Pandora's Box
by Kimmeth
Summary: Sequel to 'Inferno'. It is summer, and Cackle's is preparing for the end of term and the fourth-years' graduation. But something terrible is stirring, and the ghosts of that awful night in the ninth circle cannot yet be put to rest... FINAL TWO CHAPS UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the fabulous characters created by Jill Murphy and rounded out to perfection by Kate Duchêne, Claire Coulter et al...

**Note: **It's the first of February. You know what this means. The long anticipated sequel to **Inferno** is here at last. Enjoy...

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**One**

Amelia crept around the castle, holding the glowing candle in front of her at arm's length, its flickering flame casting eerie shadows in places where they never normally resided, making her jump at smoky silhouettes, the light doing nothing to alleviate the sharp taste of fear that was already making itself known at the back of her tongue. There was definitely something not right in the school, and she was determined that tonight, she would solve the mystery once and for all.

For the past few weeks, sleep had been slow in coming to Amelia. At first she had thought it the repercussions from too much cheesecake before she went to bed, but in recent evenings she had decided upon its having far more sinister undertones than indigestion. It was almost as if there was a presence in the castle, not necessarily an unwelcome one, but a presence that she had not felt before. It was different to all the other magical entities and forces she had ever felt, because although she called it a presence to herself, it would be better described as an absence. It was as if there was something was missing that should have been there, in effect the opposite of a presence, but still, it was a sudden feeling, one that Amelia knew she had not experienced before. Her unease had continued to mount until she had made the decision there and then to investigate, for her own peace of mind if nothing else.

The presence, or absence – Amelia decided to simply call it a 'force' – was not there all the time. At first, she thought she might only notice it during the hours of darkness because that was when her mind was at its most active and most unoccupied, but having concentrated very hard, she could tell that it was definitely not affecting her during the day.

Amelia knew that magic was a strange being, with a complete life of its own, and that was why she was wandering around the castle wherever the feeling took her, letting her own inherent magic guide her to the source of the disturbance. Suddenly, her mind returned to the present as she saw a dark shape in the corridor in front of her, and her breath caught in her throat, preventing a scream from making its way past her lips. The other figure, however, was not so afflicted and gave a sharp shriek for a split-second before clapping her hand over her mouth. Amelia lifted her candle to illuminate Davina's face.

"Davina?" she hissed. "What are you doing out here?"

"What are you doing out here?" the chanting teacher countered indignantly.

"I was..." Amelia was rather embarrassed to admit that she had been searching for something that wasn't there, and so she waved the question away airily. "Just... going for a stroll."

"Well then, that's what I was doing too."

The two older witches stayed in silence for a few moments before coming to the realisation that they were both on the same mission.

"You can feel it too, can't you?" Davina whispered. "Something's not right. Something's missing."

"But I don't know what it is..." Amelia paused thoughtfully. "Can you miss something that's never been there in the first place?"

"I'm not sure." Davina leaned heavily against the wall and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor, her hands hugging her knees. "I've checked on all the girls, they're all still here, and I double-checked the silver, so it's not a burglary."

Amelia raised her eyes to heaven at Davina's haphazard logic, believing that the reason for their disturbed slumber each night was an ineffectual kleptomaniac slowly depleting the castle's supply of spoons. She sighed as she joined her oldest friend on the cold floor. Why did such an occurrence have to happen now, during the busiest week of the year? If whatever it was could have waited seven short days, then the girls would have gone home for their summer break and Amelia could confront whatever this strange 'force' was. As the situation stood, this confrontation was taking place in the middle of the week leading up to the end of term and the fourth-years' graduation ceremony.

"Do you..." Davina began, but then she tailed off. "No, that's impossible."

"What?" pressed Amelia, now intrigued to hear Davina's theories, however incredible they might be.

"I was going to say, 'do you think it's Agatha?'" said Davina quietly.

"You're right," said Amelia, closing her eyes. "That is impossible." She suppressed a shudder as her mind cast itself back to that fateful event, over seven months ago now, when her twin had defaulted on a compact with the Devil and met her end imprisoned beneath the ice of the ninth circle of hell.

"Well," said Davina after letting Amelia have a few moments of quiet contemplation to herself. "We may as well continue looking." She jumped to her feet with all the grace of a tiny, grey-haired gymnast. Amelia followed at a slightly slower pace, marvelling at how her older friend's joints managed to cope with the exertion. They were both of them getting far too old to be sitting on stone floors in the middle of the night. Amelia traced Davina's dancing steps along the corridor, and somehow, knowing that she was not alone in her strange feeling made it seem easier to cope with. She had to come to her senses suddenly to avoid crashing into Davina, who had stopped without warning in the middle of the corridor and was pointing shrewdly at the door she was standing beside.

"Here," she said, and Amelia knew immediately that they had found the source. The feeling that something was not there that should have been had grown exponentially stronger with each step they took, and Amelia felt her heart sink as she realised just whereabouts in the castle Davina had brought them, looking up at Constance's door with a pleading expression. She should have known really; any kind of magical force that had nasty intentions would station itself with the most powerful witch in the school, and suddenly it all fitted into place. Constance had been looking a little paler than usual recently, a little more sleep-deprived. Davina pressed her ear against the door and her eyes narrowed behind her glasses.

"I can't hear anything," she said, and Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. "No," Davina continued, a worried little line forming in her brow. "I can't hear _anything_."

Amelia pressed her ear against the door as well, and she agreed with Davina. A ticking clock, a purring cat, sounds from the owls and trees outside... There was nothing, no sounds that should have been there, no sounds at all.

"At least we know what's missing now," said Davina brightly. Satisfied with her discovery, she made to leave, but Amelia's still-puzzled expression caused her smile to falter and fall away. "It's bigger than that, isn't it?"

Amelia nodded, stepping away from the door and running her fingertips around the edge, where the door itself nestled snugly into the frame.

"It's a Containment Shield," she said, more to herself than to Davina, as she felt the magic course through her fingertips.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Davina, her expression the same as if Amelia had been speaking double-dutch.

"A very weak version of the Alchemist's Shield. It's cast on a room, generally at private meetings. It stops things like magic, and indeed sounds, from slipping out through the cracks. As soon as we open the door it will break."

The two witches looked at the door, almost as if they were expecting it to growl and scare them away like a guard dog.

"The question is, of course, whether or not we open the door," said Davina, and Amelia grimaced at the reminder of the dilemma. There could be no doubt that Constance herself had cast the spell, but there had to be a reason why. It was this Containment Shield that was preventing whatever it was from reaching them, causing the absence that both the headmistress and her chanting teacher had felt so acutely. What was in her room that Constance wished to keep from the rest of the school during these hours of darkness? Amelia knew her deputy was a closed, private person, but at the same time, Amelia was responsible for the safety of the entire school, staff included.

"On the count of three," said Amelia, and both witches stood with their fingers raised, ready to cast a spell to open the door and fling magic at whatever might escape. "One, two, three!"

With a spark, the door swung open and there was a faint shimmer in the frame as the enchantment broke. Davina cast a wayward spell, but all that left the room was a piercing scream.

Knowing that such an acute sound would wake the girls almost immediately, Amelia's mind flew into overdrive, pulling Davina into the room behind her and recasting the Containment Shield. She flew over to the bed, where her deputy's shriek was now muffled by pillows. There was nothing else in the room, no magical entity causing the pained sound, nothing except Constance, deep in a terrifying slumber, fist crashing intermittently into the pillows as she thrashed in her nightmare, her screams becoming choked and gulping as tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

"Oh my... Amelia, what are we going to do?" asked Davina, fluttering around the room in high agitation.

Amelia shook her head, only able to pacify one of her staff at a time. She gently took Constance's shoulder and shook it slightly, willing her not to mistake the friendly touch for something untoward in her nightmare and throw her off.

"Constance, wake up, you're scaring us my dear." She remembered the last time she had willed her deputy to open her eyes, during her fainting episodes earlier in the year, when everyone had been fearing for her life and her magic as they raced against time to find a way out of the ninth circle.

Amelia's kind words and gentle nudging didn't seem to be having any effect, and the headmistress sighed, her heart torn by the obvious distress that her younger friend was going through.

"Try this," said Davina's fluting voice, pulling the stopper out of a bottle of Wide-Awake Potion on the bedside table and sprinkling a few drops over the pillow. Almost instantly, Constance jerked into full consciousness, looking around at the other occupants of her room and blinking slowly.

"How..." she began, gesturing at the door.

"Constance, the absence of a scream that should be there can be just as conspicuous as its presence," said Amelia, relief at seeing her potions-mistress physically unharmed causing her to smile despite the serious tone she was desperately trying to put into her words. Gingerly Constance pulled herself into a sitting position, scraping her long hair, now damp with perspiration, out of her face. "How long has this been going on, Constance? No, don't answer. It's been going on for as long as I haven't been able to sleep. That's three weeks." Amelia's mouth set in a firm line. "Why on Earth didn't you say something?"

"I didn't think it important," muttered Constance, unable to meet her superior's eyes. "It's only a nightmare."

"A nightmare that has you screaming so much you cast a spell so that the rest of us won't hear? A nightmare that you know is going to recur every time you sleep without fail?"

"It's just a dream," said Constance stubbornly, but Amelia could see that she was faltering, her shaking hands testament to that alone. She sighed.

"Constance, you of all people know that there is no such thing as 'just a dream'. Look at Mildred as a prime example, and what you told her. We're witches. Our dreams always have significance, even if they are slightly odd at times."

"I had a dream about teaching tap-dancing to porcupines once," said Davina absently. Amelia had almost forgotten that the older witch was in the room with them. "I'm not quite sure what the significance of that was."

Amelia buried her forehead in her palm with a slight moan. Whilst Davina's oddities were amusing, her sense of timing could be absolutely appalling.

"It's the Devil," said Constance eventually, her voice barely above a whisper. The words made Amelia look up sharply, and Davina's contented humming fell silent. "I keep dreaming about that night in hell. Every night, there's something different, something slightly changed – the words, the order of events, the positions we stand and fall in. I don't know what it means exactly, but I have an idea."

Amelia felt her blood freeze as it ran through her veins, making her shiver physically. She too had an idea what these nightmares meant, and it was in no way a reassuring one.

* * *

**Note2: **And your comments on a postcard please...

*Kimmeth writes her address on the back of a cereal packet and waves it around above her head.*


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: **Phew! I thought I was going to have to trek up to campus on my day off to post this - mark of how dedicated I am to this fic eh? But as luck would have it, my dodgy Internet connection decided to make itself useful for a brief period this lunch time, so I am taking advantage and posting this while I have the chance instead of doing my German grammar...

**Note2: **Thank you so much for the positive reaction to the first chapter! I knew people were looking forward to it but I was still a bit nervous, so... *Kimmeth can't think of something appropriate to say and so hands out chocolate brownies (still warm) instead.* Here's the second chapter - enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Two**

Mildred woke suddenly, unable to place quite what had caused her to jerk out of blissful sleep. She tried to remember the dream she had been having, but it had already slipped away from her. She shrugged as she sat up, trying to determine the time from the amount of light that was shining through the chink in the shutters. It couldn't have been that important.

Tabby gave a disgruntled mew as Mildred crossed her legs, disturbing him from his position sitting on her feet at the end of her bed. He pawed around a few times before settling himself once more, head resting on his paws in a perfect picture of contentment. Mildred sighed and looked around the room. It was light already, the days getting longer and longer as the bright and dry month of July progressed.

The robes hanging on her wardrobe door caught Mildred's attention, and presently she slipped out of bed and padded across the room to run her fingers over the silky black fabric. They were the robes that she would wear to her graduation ceremony on Saturday, along with the mortarboard hanging beside them. It was hard to believe that she was soon to be leaving the academy, and that there had been a time, four years ago, when she didn't think that she would ever get to see the day when she walked onto the stage in those beautiful robes, reserved for this one occasion only. Graduation had always been Mildred's favourite day of the school year, and not simply because it was the last day of term and it meant that she would be going home for summer the next morning. Seeing the final-years going up to collect their certificates from Miss Cackle, listening to the head-girl's speech, catching Miss Hardbroom smiling genuinely from under the brim of her hat; they were all part and parcel of the Cackle's experience.

It suddenly struck Mildred as odd that on the day they were pronounced fully-qualified witches, they wore mortarboards instead of the traditional pointed hat, and the paradoxical nature of the situation made her laugh out loud. Hearing a noise outside her door, she thought that perhaps she had been laughing a little _too_ loudly. There was a slight knock and then the door swung open to reveal Maud's face.

"Did you just hear something?" she asked, puzzled.

"I was laughing," said Mildred.

"No, it wasn't that. I thought it was a scream, but it cut off quickly." She paused, her mouth twitching slightly. "I thought it might be you, so I came to check, and then I heard you laughing so I guessed it couldn't have been you."

Mildred shrugged. Perhaps that was what had caused her to wake so suddenly. She turned her head on one side and looked at Maud's face, perfectly alert. She had obviously been awake for a long time prior to being disturbed by a possible scream.

"Can't sleep anyway?" she asked her friend, who shook her head in conformation and entered the room fully to perch cross-legged on the foot of the bed, causing Tabby's second protest. His grumbling ceased when Maud lifted him up onto her lap and he began to play with her fluffy slippers. "I can't believe we're nearly at the end, it seems to have flown by."

"Well, some parts have," said Maud, absently stroking Tabby's ears. "Double potions dragged sometimes. But just think, no more HB jumping out at us from the middle of nowhere anymore."

Both girls turned round quickly, as if expecting to see their form-mistress materialise in the doorway, but no such appearance occurred. Mildred found it amazing how they still managed to be caught out even after four years of surprises. One would think that they would have got used to it by now, but they were only just beginning to anticipate when she might appear.

"You never know," said Mildred, leaving the wardrobe and settling back onto her bed. "Just when we think she's gone for good, she'll burst out at me from nowhere in the middle of my flat at Weirdsister, just when I've said something nasty about her." Maud giggled. "But really, she isn't all bad. I think she's been more lenient with us this year."

"I think that might be more to do with the fact that we stopped playing up and let bygones be bygones."

In the wake of the terrifying events of the previous Autumn, when all of the final-year students had been thrown together, wondering if they would ever see the light of day again, it had been decided amongst them that a truce should be called. Whilst Ethel and Drusilla were never going to be as close friends to Mildred as Maud and Enid were, they felt that it was high time, with their graduation and their release into the adult world looming, to put the past behind them and act like the young women that they were supposed to be. The difference, Mildred noted, had been almost palpable, and she had even heard Miss Bat and Miss Drill remarking on it in corridors when they thought no-one was listening. Maud's voice pulled Mildred back to reality.

"Have you written your speech yet?" she asked, a playful glint in her eye. Mildred groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. Whilst the head-girl's speech had always been a traditional part of Cackle's graduation that she enjoyed, she was not looking forward to it this year, when she herself would be the orator. She had already decided that she would simply speak from the heart, show her true feelings and emotions at leaving the school that, despite all the slips, all the problems, all the various dangerous situations she had found herself in over the years, she loved as a second home, even with its draughts and leaks.

"I don't want to think about it yet," she said, muffled by the pillow.

"Mildred, graduation is Saturday evening. It's Thursday morning. When are you going to think about it?"

"Not now."

Mildred heard Maud sigh, and for a few moments she wondered what she was going to do without her best friend to organise her once they went their separate ways to magical colleges. Both girls had been accepted on scholarships to different establishments. Mildred was going to Weirdsister in Cambridge for creative spellwork. (Or 'fancy drawing' as a jealous Ethel sometimes remarked when she thought Mildred was out of earshot. Still, it marked some degree of progression, thought Mildred. The old Ethel would have said it to her face.) Maud was off to Avalon in London for transfiguration and transmogrification. Whilst her title might sound more impressive, Maud had joked, at least people could actually pronounce Mildred's. She thought for a few moments about the paths her other friends were taking. Jadu was going to study English at a non-magical college, with a view to becoming a journalist for Witchcraft Weekly. Ruby and Enid had both been accepted to continue studying magic at Primrose Hill, in the middle of the Yorkshire countryside. They were all going to such far flung corners of the country, and Mildred hoped sincerely that they would be able to keep in touch.

"What shall we do tomorrow... well, later today?" she asked, pointedly changing the subject. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Judging from the position of the light in the sky and the moon rising in Venus and swimming in Aquariums, I'd say ten past five."

Mildred raised an eyebrow.

"I'm serious! Ok, I'll admit, I checked my watch before I left my room, but still, it was a pretty convincing impression!"

It was Mildred's turn to sigh, and try to think of how she would occupy their day. Since the exams were over and the results posted, the fourth-years had a virtually free reign to do as they pleased in their final few days at the school, as long as they didn't disturb the teaching of the other classes, the penalty for which, a stern-faced Miss Hardbroom had told them, was to sit in with the first years for the rest of the week until Saturday. Naturally, the school had been church-quiet for the first three days of the week, but now Mildred was itching to do something more constructive than laze around by the pond, reading and reminiscing.

"We haven't been to Cosie's for a while," she said absent-mindedly. "In fact, we haven't been anywhere with chocolate fudge cake for a while."

"What you mean is, we haven't been to the bookshop for a while." Mildred grinned sheepishly as her friend found her out, but it was true. With the preparations for their final exams and coursework, the girls had been kept on a very tight leash, and there had been no town visits for the final-years for the past three months. Mildred was beginning to feel slightly guilty that the friendship that they had struck up with Della Spinder, cousin of Ethel and one-time magical Liaison, had been ignored in recent weeks, but it had been unavoidable. Now that it was permissible, Mildred felt they ought to pay her a visit.

"Just think of all that fudge cake going uneaten because we haven't been there!" said Mildred. "We _have_ to go!"

"I never said we shouldn't," said Maud levelly. "I was merely pointing out that your subtle hints were not very subtle."

"Excellent, a trip to Spinder's it is then. What about the others?"

"I think Jadu said something about showing next year's head-girl and deputy the ropes. Ruby's volunteered to fix Mr Blossom's aunt's toaster, but I think Enid will be up to it."

"Will Della be up to Enid, though?"

Both girls laughed as they remembered the last time they had been to the bookshop with their mischievous friend, and a rather shellshocked Della had ended up with frogspawn growing from the ceiling of her shop.

"Failing all that, I'm sure Miss Bat wouldn't mind." This sparked another peal of laughter, and neither girl noticed the faint flash of purple light in the early morning sun outside, nor the momentary chill that blew into the room and caused Tabby's fur to stand on end, occasioning a small growl.

"I should probably go back to bed," said Maud with a yawn, rising from the end of Mildred's bed and making for the door. She paused. "Are you sure you didn't hear a scream?"

Mildred nodded, although she wasn't completely positive. If only she could remember her dream... Maud shrugged and opened the door.

"See you later."

"Yep."

Mildred turned over and allowed Tabby to pad up the bed and snuggle into the covers with her, holding him tightly and wondering if she would be allowed to keep him with her at Weirdsister. If it was a college for witches, surely their familiars were welcome too?

Mildred was still pondering this as she fell asleep in the early dawn light. She didn't notice the raven that had been circling silently outside her window for the past few minutes. She didn't notice when it came in to land softly on her windowsill in the crack where the shutters did not quite meet. It cast a glance round the room, seeming to take everything in with the perception of a human, its silver eyes shimmering in the rising light, and occasionally, when the shadows fell in a certain way, flickering red.

Mildred didn't notice the strange quality of its wings as it spread them out, the feathers so fine and thin they were almost like leaves of jet-black tissue paper. She didn't notice as it floated into the room on the breeze to land gently on the floor, making no noise. Tabby got off the bed, his heightened senses alerted by something, and he sniffed around the floor, looking for the bird that he thought he had smelled, not that he could do much with it should he have the opportunity to pounce.

Mildred didn't notice that the eerie, silent raven that had visited her was no longer a raven, but an envelope of a material not so very unlike feathers in a deep ebony colour, with shining silver ink beginning to bleed through, dancing over the paper and forming into a haunting, elegant cursive. Was it writing a name? An address? A message?

The ink stopped moving once two complete words had been formed. When Mildred found the envelope on her bedroom floor when she woke a few hours later, she could not understand them, and, putting the envelope in her bag, she carried the words in her head like a mantra as she tried to divine their possible meaning.

_Caram Pandora.

* * *

_**Note3: ***Kimmeth digs out her pointy stick from under her bed, dusts it off with her sleeve, and waves it at the review button.*


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: **Erm, not much to say really this time. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Three**

"Anyone coming?"

"Nope."

Mildred, Maud and Enid peered out from behind one of the pillars that surrounded the small inner courtyard and, having established that there was indeed no-one coming, they rushed along the corridor and out of the main doors before running across to the broom shed and, soon after, lifting off into the freedom of the air. Although the fourth-years had the week to themselves to do with what they wished, they were still expected to wear uniform. "You are still pupils at Cackle's until Saturday," Miss Hardbroom had said to them at the beginning of the week, "and therefore we expect you to present yourselves and behave in the manner expected of our students." Mildred, Maud and Enid accepted this when within the school grounds, but Enid especially thought that it was taking it too far to expect them to wear uniform when they left the castle. Besides, Della already knew all about Cackle's; it wasn't as if they had to make a good impression for her. So, Mildred, Maud and Enid were attired in far more comfortable clothing, and hiding behind pillars in order to avoid being spotted by the formidable deputy-head.

But, thought Mildred as she pointed her broom in the direction of the town and felt the warm summer breeze in her face, HB had softened recently. She was still the same dragon as before, and she could still make Mildred feel two inches tall with a single glare, but there was something else in her expression. She seemed... tired. As if she couldn't wait for the end of the school year. This might be a natural reaction for most teachers when the end of term was rapidly approaching but never seeming to arrive, but this was Miss Hardbroom they were talking about. She had never looked forward to the end of term as far as Mildred knew. She had certainly never seemed in need of the break. She shook the thought away, not wanting any worries to taint her perfect day. She couldn't have asked for better weather for broomstick flying really. The sky was bright cerulean blue, without a cloud or a bird in sight. Thinking of birds brought her attention back to the strange letter that she had found on her floor that morning. Keeping one hand on her broom, she reached into her bag and pulled out the feather-like paper, reading the incomprehensible words on the envelope.

"Maud, did you drop this when you came into my room last night?" she asked, waving it at her friend, flying alongside her. Maud peered at the mysterious letter and shook her head.

"I've never seen it before."

"I found it in my room this morning."

They pushed the noses of their broomsticks down into a steep dive as they approached the town, careful to avoid being seen by any of the residents. They could only propagate rumours of extra-terrestrials for so long, although Enid and Ruby had sneaked out one night a few months back and made some extremely convincing crop circles. HB would have had them all in detention for at least the rest of their lives, if not beyond the grave as well had she found out, but since Miss Cackle had thought it absolutely hilarious, she had agreed not to let on and to stick firmly with the theory of Martians choosing their local fields as a canvas for their alien artworks. Once safely landed, with a concealment spell placed over their brooms, the conversation continued as they made their way down the twisting streets towards Spinder's, the little basement bookshop where Della made her living.

"What does it say?" asked Enid, taking the letter from Mildred and studying it closely.

"I don't know," said Mildred. "It's all in a different language. Latin I think. It looks like it came from one of the really old spellbooks in the library. One of the ones that doesn't come with the translations printed on the opposite page."

Maud laughed, and before they knew it, they had passed the house beneath which the bookshop lay and had to backtrack before careering down the steps and into the room, the bell jingling madly above them. Della's bookshop was not exceedingly well-known in the town, indeed, as Miss Bat had said on Mildred's very first visit, one had to know where one it was in order to find it. It was very rare to see another customer perusing the vast shelves or sitting in one of the chairs in the reading corner, let alone two, so it took the three fourth-years by surprise to find two others at the counter, talking animatedly to Della. They hung back slightly before one of the women turned and waved a cheery hello. A grin broke out over Mildred's face and she ran across the room to join them, Maud and Enid following.

"Fenny! Griz!"

Fenella Feverfew and Grizelda Blackwood had graduated from Cackle's the previous year, although everyone wondered privately how they had managed to last out their four years, with the amount of trouble they had managed to get into over the course of their studies. Both were now studying at college, or at least, they should have been.

"I thought you were meant to be at Weirdsister," said Enid, her eyes narrowing.

"Well..." Fenny feigned a look of sheepishness.

"Don't tell me you got kicked out." Mildred sighed theatrically.

"Us? Kicked out? How could you suggest such a thing?" Griz grinned wickedly. "We haven't been kicked out. We're here on a nostalgia trip."

"After all, we couldn't let you three, who we so carefully mentored to carry on in our footsteps, graduate without us being there to congratulate you on surviving the gauntlet of shaky infrastructure, inedible dinner and, of course, HB."

"Thank you." Mildred paused. "What brings you here, then?" She gestured around the shop.

"Well, we had to see the place one last time," sighed Fenny. "We used to come here a lot. Regular customers, we were."

"You were indeed," said Della, sliding her bookbinding knives into their case. Ever since narrowly avoiding being stabbed by them the previous year, she had been very careful not to leave them unattended. "To think I never guessed you were witches until I put two and two together and connected you to Davina. I was almost bankrupted when you left, you were responsible for at least three-quarters of my custom."

"Hang on," said Enid, and her brow furrowed into a frown. "Did you say 'one last time'?"

"Are you closing down?" yelped Maud anxiously. The three girls looked around the shop properly for the first time since entering, taking in the half-empty shelves and the boxes dotted around the room – more boxes than was usual in the generally crowded and untidy space. It certainly looked as if Della was in the process of moving out. "Why?"

"Calm down, calm down, I'm not closing. Well, not permanently anyway." Della smiled. "I'm going away for a year, to do my Masters degree. All being well, I'll be back before you know it."

Mildred shuffled slightly, embarrassed. She had forgotten that Della had been saving up for a Masters for the past three years, and now she was finally getting the chance to do what she loved. Shamingly, Mildred had never thought to ask what her older friend would be studying.

"Where are you going?" asked Maud as Della twisted the shop sign to 'back in an hour' and led them through to the glorious clutter of the back room, where she kept her kettle in a box, mismatched china tea set in an antique dresser, and chocolate fudge cake in an old Quality Street tin.

"Glamorgan, in Wales," Della replied, getting out five plates and a large saucer and beginning to cut the cake. There was not much left, and the slices were miniscule, but, Mildred reflected, any of Della's homemade cake was better than none. She was certainly going to get on with her coursemates at university if she plied them with her baking skills.

"Wales?" echoed Enid in disgust. "Why _Wales_?"

Everyone burst out laughing at her disparaging tone.

"Believe it or not," said Della once she had composed herself, "Glamorgan is the only university in the country to offer the course I am taking. No other university offers Gothic Studies."

Another fit of laughter rippled around the small room, and Mildred could not help but laugh at the irony that Della, who had such dealings with occult and witchcraft, was going to study such things in depth from a non-magician's point of view.

The topic of conversation changed, drifting on to Fenny and Griz's experiences at Weirdsister. Already their experimental potions had caused an entire wing of the old building to be evacuated, and they had incurred several fines for their indiscretions. All in all, they were thoroughly enjoying the freedom, and their blackmarket magical make-up business that they had supported off and on at Cackle's was thriving better than ever.

"You'll love it Mildred," said Fenny. "Although at the rate we're going, we might not be there when you arrive."

"Come on," said Griz. "We've only got a week left, surely not _that_ much can go wrong."

"True, true. But then, we did leave that acne potion brewing under the sink... there's always the chance that it'll go horribly awry in the few days we're away."

"It's a perfectly simple potion," exclaimed Griz. "How can it go wrong?"

"Well, Jonny might come in plastered and drink it for one," said Fenny.

"Ah," said Griz, before launching into a detailed description of their flatmate Jonny for the benefit of the bemused party. By the time she had finished her increasingly ludicrous portrait, Mildred was beginning to wonder how Jonny had ever managed to get as far as Weirdsister without causing himself fatal injury. There was a contented silence for a few minutes whilst Maud scooped up fudge cake crumbs and icing on her finger. Mildred remembered one of the reasons why she had decided to come to Spinder's in the first place and reached into her bag for her Leaver's Book, intending for Della (and Fenny and Griz since they happened to be around as well) to write an inspirational message in it. Her fingertips brushed the feathery letter and pulled it out with the book, which she handed to Fenny, ignoring the gleam of anticipation in her eyes. She looked at the black paper, with silver writing sparkling in the sunlight from the high window, then looked around the room for something that would aid her translation.

"Della, do you have a Latin dictionary in your collection by any chance?" she asked.

"I do indeed. Hang on." Della dived into a box beside her, pulling out various worn reference works and, inexplicably, a complete set of Delia Smith's cookery books still in their plastic wrapping. Eventually she found what she was looking for and held out the dog-eared volume to Mildred, who gawped at its awful condition. Whilst the majority of Della's books were old, they were all lovingly restored by her hand and in excellent keep.

"I don't intend on selling it," she said, laughing on seeing Mildred's expression. "I keep it for personal reference. Why do you need it anyway?"

Mildred momentarily ignored her question in favour of focussing on her other words.

"Personal reference... do you read Latin, then?"

"Some. I taught myself the basics; it's a great skill to have in my business."

"Could you translate this for me please?"

Della took the envelope off Mildred and looked at the elaborate cursive, taking a gulp of air.

"I can try," she said eventually. "I can give you a gist."

"That's all I need," assured Mildred. "I found it on my floor this morning. I don't know whose it is, and I want to make sure it gets to its rightful owner."

"Well, we'll have a go. Learn Latin in an afternoon with Della Spinder." She rose. "We'd better get back in the shop. You never know, I might have a queue of customers outside the door."

The girls smiled, but they knew how unlikely it was, and sure enough, the street outside the shop was empty when they returned.

Della pulled up a box to use as a seat and the others did likewise, all clustering around the small counter with the cash register. She spent several moments reading through the Latin and checking things in her dictionary before she was ready to begin.

"Well, it's difficult – it's not in Classical Latin, it's kind of a hotch potch... the words are Latin but the grammar is terrible. Anyway, this is what I think it is. The envelope is addressed 'Caram Pandora', which literally means 'dear Pandora', as in the name, Pandora."

"There isn't anyone called Pandora in the school," said Maud, puzzled.

Mildred thought for a moment, agreeing with her friend at first, but then a chilling realisation settling in the pit of her stomach as she and Fenny spoke in unison.

"There is."

"Who?"

"Remember the ninth circle?" whispered Enid, coming to the same realisation. "What's HB's middle name? What did the Devil keep calling her?"

"Oh no..." murmured Maud. "Constance _Pandora_ Hardbroom..."

* * *

**Note2: **I don't claim to be fluent in Latin. I only know the odd word. Hence why I get round things with the 'hotch-potch' theory. There will be no more Latin in PB. One word was enough for me!

**Note3: **As of September 2007, Glamorgan University really was the only one to offer MA Gothic Studies.

Hope you enjoyed, and as always.... *Kimmeth points to review button with puppy-eyes.*


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: **Big thanks to the reviewers! Here's what you've all been waiting for - the contents of the letter.

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Four**

Mildred looked around at the stricken faces of her classmates and their older friends, none of them knowing quite what to think. Della appeared not to have noticed their sudden unease and continued in her translation, flicking through the pages of the dictionary with a well-practised hand, scrawling a rough English version of the letter on a spare bit of paper from her handbag in purple ink. Occasionally she would give an exclamation of frustration, smacking the incomprehensible text when it yielded something particularly complicated. None of the girls dared to speak, trying to make out Della's handwriting, which was almost as unreadable as the original Latin.

"Well," said Della eventually, putting down her pen and leaning back on her box. "This is what I've got. Let me know if it makes any sense whatsoever." She cleared her throat and began to read off her notes. "Here goes. 'My dearest Pandora, it's been a long time, and I think we should meet once more.' Then there's something about third time lucky, or best of three or something like that. 'You didn't know me the second time we met, I nearly didn't know you, but you are truly unforgettable my dearest. The circumstances have always been unfavourable, but I suggest a new place to meet, after all the ninth circle can be...' I think it's 'uncomfortable'... 'even for someone as strong as you. I'm feeling nostalgic. Meet me where we met the first time. Ah, the memories'." Della paused. "This is making no sense to me. Did you mention Miss Hardbroom?"

Mildred nodded grimly.

"Go on; is there anymore?"

"Yes. Whoever wrote this certainly likes the sound of his own voice. 'You may destroy this letter, you may refuse my kind invitation, but you will be there my dearest Pandora. Your Box may only have been a myth, but I know the true Pandora's Box, and I have opened it. The Void has been opened. So you will be there, Pandora, whether you want to or not. This I know for certain.' It's not signed."

"Cripes," said Fenny, slowly sitting back down on her box from where she had leaned into the desk to read the letter. "Miss Hardbroom's got a secret fella."

"I don't think so," said Mildred, taking the translation and reading through it a few times as best she could. "He makes it sound like she's not going to want to meet him, whoever he is."

"Well, we know who it is," said Maud plainly. "It's the Devil. He's the only one who called her Pandora as a matter of course, and he says about not meeting in the ninth circle."

Della nodded.

"I concur." She paused, twisting her pen between her fingers. "But this means that she's met him before."

Mildred slumped on her box. The letter, which had raised so many questions in her mind when she had first discovered it, had now thrown up a new flurry of unanswered queries, ones that were genuinely terrifying her with the possible calamities that they might engender. One thing she knew for certain, though. Miss Hardbroom was not the sort of witch to give in to a pact with the Devil. She remembered, much as she hated to do so, that night in the Ninth Circle, and the words that he had whispered to her form-mistress before she had fainted into his arms. Did they have some other meaning? Miss Hardbroom had later said that he had told her that the girls were going to be safe, but no-one knew the exact exchange that had taken place. She thought again of how tired and worn-down HB had been looking recently. Was it all linked?

"That aside," said Enid, "after all, who Miss Hardbroom chooses to keep personal company with is none of our business, I really don't like the sound of this Void."

"No-one does," muttered Griz. "It's not the sort of thing you want on your doorstep."

There was silence in the shop again as the gathered group reread that particular part of the letter, or rather, its rough translation.

"What is the Void?" asked Maud.

"No-one knows." Fenny shrugged. "Loads of old books make reference to the mysterious Void."

"The general consensus is that opening it is a bad thing," added Griz. "No-one actually knows what's in it though. No-one really believes that it exists. It's mythical really. Like Pandora's Box."

"No-one believes in hell anymore, but we've got evidence to the contrary." Della sniffed, getting up from the desk and pawing through the nearest box, evidently searching for a work that would give them a better idea of what they were up against. "The Devil seems fairly convinced that it's real."

"You won't find anything Della," sighed Fenny, shaking her head at Della's obviously futile efforts. "None of the books we've ever looked in say anything about the Void, other than that it's nasty if opened."

Della sighed and returned to the desk.

"You'd better get going," she said heavily.

Mildred wondered if, by bringing the Devil and other such uncontrollable and horrifying forces into Della's life once more, they had outstayed their welcome slightly. Della made no secret of the fact that she was glad that her involvement with the magical world had returned to the occasional visit from witches in passing, and that she had not enjoyed her brief dalliance with power at all. Perhaps this letter was the final straw.

"I don't mean to push you out, but there's a customer outside," Della went on to explain, "and after all, the letter was not really intended for our eyes. You should be getting it back to its proper owner." She paused. "It's only a rough translation," she said, no doubt trying to throw them a ray of hope, "things might not be as bad as they seem."

Mildred nodded, but inwardly she knew that Della's translation did indeed give them a very good idea of what was in store. She took up the letter and slid it back into the envelope, the strange material that she had at first found fascinating now repulsing her. Fenny, Griz and Maud all stood to leave the shop with her, and after saying their subdued goodbyes, Della smiled wanly after them. They passed the customer on their way out, paying no attention to him, each girl completely absorbed in her own thoughts.

"This isn't good," said Maud after several minutes of silent contemplation. "I feel so... helpless. I mean, what can we do?"

"It's like the four-minute warning," Enid added grimly. "What the heck do you do when you know you're about to die?"

"Come on," said Griz, feigning brightness in her voice. "It might not be that bad. It's only..." Griz tailed off, her whole form sagging as she realised that saying 'it's only the Devil' might possibly contest for the title of 'oxymoron of the century'.

"Do you think that's the reason why HB's been different lately?" asked Mildred. "Perhaps she knows it's coming."

"Well, if she's had dealings with the Devil before..." Enid tapped the letter that Mildred was still holding out in front of her without realising. "I honestly don't know what to make of any of this. When I first started at witch school, I was prepared for my fair share of strange and unworldly occurrences, and I must admit that I was disappointed for the first couple of months when nothing exciting happened. Now that I'm leaving, the interesting stuff starts happening and I'm not altogether sure that I want it to." Enid stopped in her tracks and looked pointedly up at the sky. "Can you hear me Devil!" she yelled. "Why can't you wait till Monday to put your nefarious plans into action!"

Maud fell into fits of laughter at this burst of outrage, and soon the others had joined in, the mirth fuelling them until they had reached the place where the three younger witches had stowed their broomsticks. Mildred looked at Fenny and Griz, eyeing them, or more specifically eyeing their lack of brooms, up and down.

"How are you getting back to the castle?" she asked plainly.

"Ah, my dear Mildred," sighed Fenny. "Ye of little faith."

She folded her arms in the position usually adopted by Miss Hardbroom and shimmered away into thin air, to the admiring gasps of the others. Only Mildred noticed Griz smack her hand against her forehead as two seconds later, Fenny reappeared and toppled over into the wall of the alley, taking a while to regain her balance and finally ending up sitting on a bin-bag.

"Well, I haven't had all that much practice yet," she grumbled. "It's harder than it looks you know. Small wonder that HB's the only witch in Cackle's who can do it."

"We'll fly with you," said Griz, snapping her fingers so that her broom materialised out of midair into her palm. "Brooms are much easier to make appear than oneself," she explained airily to the bemused fourth-years. Fenny did the same after extricating herself from the rubbish, and they waited for a patch of cloud cover to drift over their alley before taking off quickly into it, away from the prying eyes of the town. Mildred pondered idly how Della was getting on with her customer; if she had managed to find what he was looking for in her many boxes. It was sad that she was leaving, but then again, Mildred thought, she would be leaving too, off to Weirdsister, so the communication between them would have had to come to a natural conclusion anyway. Hopefully they'd be able to keep in touch. Mildred wondered if Della would keep in contact with her cousins, the Hallows, a whole new branch to her family that she hadn't known about until comparatively recently. Ethel and Sybil had been to see Della in the shop a few times, but she had yet to be introduced to the rest of their prestigious family, who seemed to be shunning contact in the hope of keeping secret the fact that their 'perfect' sister had brought scandal upon them in this way with an illegitimate child.

Mildred was still deep in thought when she heard an exclamation next to her, and turned to see Maud pointing straight ahead, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear.

"What on Earth is THAT?"

Mildred followed her eye-line to see a purple sheen illuminating the sky around the castle, unlike any cloud formation she had seen before. Where there had once been bright sunshine, there were only thick indigo rainclouds, the unnatural wind seeming to blow them round and round into a swirling pattern not unlike the vortexes of optical illusions.

"I've got no idea," said Enid. "Unless, of course, it's the first-years experimenting with weather charms again."

"I don't think so," said Fenny, pulling up beside them, the five girls hovering in midair as they watched the swirling purple cloudbank seem to settle and descend upon the castle. The young witches looked at each other, and without needing words, all of them simultaneously set off at full pelt towards the school, not caring whether they were spotted by the townsfolk on the ground below. Mildred was fairly sure that they would be far more interested in the oddly-coloured sky than the minute figures flying towards it at speeds previously thought impossible for broomsticks to achieve.

"Whatever it is," yelled Enid over the sound of the wind rushing past them, "I don't think it's a good thing!"

Maud and Mildred shouted their agreement, and Mildred knew in the pit of her stomach that it was tied in with the letter. They reached the cloudbank by this point, and, pausing only to take a deep breath of courage, Mildred flew into it. If the wind had been severe before, it was nothing to what it was now. The girls were being blown off course and threatened to crash into the high tower.

"Why don't broomsticks come with parachutes?" screamed Maud through the roar.

Mildred didn't reply, too focussed on trying to keep her broom in a straight line in the direction of the ground. She could see the pupils in their uniforms in the courtyard looking up in awe at the flyers, and suddenly, she was in control again. Looking up, she realised that the indigo sky had cleared as quickly as it had appeared above the castle, and she was able to bring her broom into land carefully. The others touched down beside her and they ran together, congregating in a huddle.

"Is everyone alright?" asked Griz.

"I think so," said Enid. "What the hell was that?"

"I think in the circumstances, 'hell' might be the wrong word to use," said Fenny grimly. "Come on. That settles it. You still got that letter Mildred?"

Shaken by her experience, Mildred could only nod, holding up the black envelope, its silver cursive seeming to shine brighter than it had done all morning.

"We need to see Miss Hardbroom on a matter of national magical importance," said Griz. "There's no time to lose."

* * *

**Note: ***Kimmie reconstructs the old 'mind-control' device out of her housemate's colander and proceeds to send out 'review' vibes...*


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: **Hello folks! It's that time again, and this time, and things are hotting up! (If they weren't already.) This is the first chapter that I have ever written solely from Della's narrative POV, so please let me know how it runs!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Five**

Della watched her younger friends leave the shop, wishing that she had more time to sit and think about the strange turn of events that her life had taken, but her prospective customer had already entered the shop and was looking around the half-empty shelves and the stacked boxes in wonderment. Della remained silent for a while, letting him gawp and browse at his own pace, and giving herself time to mentally assess him. She did this with all her customers, sizing up which ones were likely to buy, which ones were looking for investments among her first editions. She could instantly tell insurance brokers or antiques dealers; they always looked at things with such greedy and delicate scrutiny, trying to find a piece that was worth a fortune that she had underpriced, or more likely, something that she had priced correctly that they would try and convince her was worthless and to let it go for a song. Della smiled wryly at a memory; she and her father had had their fair share of those in their time. She could also, Della thought sadly, tell which ones were genuinely interested in her Aladdin's cave of weird and wonderful volumes, and which ones were only taking a passing fancy, and were likely to leave her little corner empty-handed. In recent months, Della had noticed that customers of the latter type were far more prominent than she liked, and that her supply of customers in general had been dwindling slowly. The old bell over the door never seemed to ring as much as it used to do. Now seemed the perfect time to pack up and leave it for a year, to see how many people would actually miss the shop once it was gone. Mildred and her friends would miss the company, but they only bought books occasionally. Even the steady stream of customers who came to get rebinding done on ancient novels was decidedly smaller than it had once been.

Della dragged herself away from this pessimistic train of thought and continued her appraisal of the new arrival. She didn't recognise him, which was unusual in itself given that she ran the sort of shop that attracted 'regulars' like Davina. He didn't seem to be the sort of man that one would expect to be interested in the occult, or any of the other strange phenomena that stocked at least half of her shelves, the others being given over to classics and various other antiquated and out-of-print works. But there he was, absorbed in one of the more potent books of Wiccan traditions, seeming to be genuinely interested in what the book was saying. Having completed this initial observation from a purely business point of view, Della began to look at him in a personal light. Despite not recognising him as a regular, his angled face and jawline seemed familiar, although she couldn't quite place him. She shrugged and guessed that she must have seen someone similar on the TV recently. She noticed at length that he had a small book tucked under his arm, and she wondered why she hadn't spotted it before. Finally, she decided that she ought to say something. If he was as interested in the books as he was making out to be, then she might be able to make her first sale in three-and-a-half weeks. Della loved her books, and parting with each one was like a breeder parting with a kitten – she wanted to make sure that they were all going to good homes, where they would be looked after, and not used as footstools or dropped in the bath. Della knew, however, that the bookshop was what made her living, and there was no way that she would have been able to save up enough for her Masters degree had she not worn her 'shrewd businesswoman' hat on occasion.

"Can I help you?" she asked, crossing her legs as she perched nonchalantly on her box, tapping one foot against the cardboard.

"Are you having a closing down sale?" asked the man, his deep brown eyes crinkling as he smiled. Della found herself smiling back, and cursed inwardly at how quickly she had been smitten. Men like that, she remembered her mother telling her, the ones who could wrap you round their little finger with a single smile, were trouble. He seemed, on the face of it, to be fairly harmless really, and how bad could a man who shared her taste in books be? Della shook herself crossly, reprimanding herself silently for getting so far ahead of the game already.

"Sort of," she replied. "Only for a year. Now, how can I be of assistance?"

The man raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, Della thought that she was going to have to feign a sudden interest in the cash register in order to give her an excuse to look away and help her keep it together. It was getting ridiculous.

"Who said I needed assistance?" he purred. That was the only way Della could think of to describe his voice, a purr, soft and... dangerous almost. Her little moment of fancy immediately broke with that thought, and her head was clear. It was blindingly obvious now and she didn't know why she hadn't noticed it before. The man screamed of danger: something in his stance, his walk as he sauntered closer to the desk, his smile showing teeth that were perhaps half a shade too white. Della swallowed.

"You have a book under your arm that I can see is bound in antique leather of a shade only used in a certain time period, and I happen to know that books from this particular period have a tendency to shed pages due to a new experimental glue they were trying out at the time."

The man took a step back, clearly impressed by her knowledge, and Della felt a smug sense of pride at having bested him. She took out the case containing her knives, inviting him closer with a flick of her head. He placed the book on the desk in front of her and pulled up a box without being invited.

"You are indeed correct," he said, indicating the worn areas on the Kelly green spine before opening the cover and letting a page fall loose. "I need this rebound, and I was wondering if you would also be able to give me an estimate for its value." He smiled and Della flinched, too many too white teeth too close to her face. "I trust you, of course, not to buy it from me at a ridiculously low price and then sell it on for a fortune," he added, an air of mock-disapproval about him.

Della ignored the comment and began to go over the book for herself.

"A standard rebind of a book of this sort is thirty-five pounds, prices go up for extra detail on the cover and things like that."

"Thirty-five?" The man gave a low whistle. "I know places where I can get it done for half that."

"They don't do it overnight though," said Della, feeling her teeth set on edge. The man was beginning to make her flesh creep, and he certainly wasn't endearing himself to her with his business tactics. Whilst bargaining was a necessity in her line of work, it was in no way Della's favourite past time. She leaned back on her box pointedly. "As for an evaluation... I'd have to know a little bit more about it."

"It's a genuine first edition, not that there were any subsequent editions. It's a little known work, a collection of tales, myths and legends of the Classical Era, in the original language."

Della looked down the pages at the elegantly set words, undeniably Classical Latin of a far higher quality than the letter she had just struggled to translate. She peered at the words, struggling to focus on the tiny print. She blinked a few times to clear her vision, but it was impossible to concentrate on the type. Every time she seemed to get close enough to see it, it appeared to blur and shimmer. Della shook her head and gave up on her attempt to translate, settling instead for the much blunter way of finding out the contents.

"What sort of tales?" she asked, tapping the page with a blade.

"Oh, the usual famous things. Orpheus in the Underworld, Pandora's Box, Pyramus and Thisbe... You know, the usual suspects."

"Pyramus and Thisbe... The Greek Romeo and Juliet," sighed Della, although that was not the particular tale that she was thinking of. Pandora's Box. How ironic that she should hear about that particular myth twice in the same morning, and from such different sources. She snapped the book shut and placed her hands on it to prevent the man from taking it up again. "This is a most interesting work," she said, deciding to play up to whatever twisted game he was trying to initiate. "I would be delighted to look into it further and to place a price on it for you." She smiled darkly. "I might even knock a tenner off the rebind for you. After all, it's not often that so rare a piece finds itself into my humble establishment." The man bowed, something in his smile making it all too evident that this was the reaction he had been angling for. Della was determined to hang onto the mysterious book and unravel some of the magic – she was certain that it was magic – that seemed to be hanging around it. "Will you leave a name and contact details, sir?"

"My name is Tony Cauchemar," he said with a devilish grin. "It's French," he added airily. "As for contacting me... That won't be necessary. I'll keep dropping by, to check up on the progress. You said that you could do binding within twenty-four hours, didn't you?"

"As long as nothing catastrophic happens then yes, you can pick it up at the same time tomorrow. The evaluation may take longer though, my Latin is not very strong; I might need to get an independent broker in to have a look at it."

"I'm sure you can manage it, a clever girl like you," Tony said quickly – a little too quickly. Della scored one victory point in her mental tally. He obviously did not want anyone other than her to see this strange text. The next time he spoke however, he had recovered from this slight setback and had returned to his usual suave self. "Well, I shall leave it in your capable hands, Della."

He swept out of the room without another word, leaving an astounded Della in his wake.

"I never told you my name was Della," she whispered after him. She shook her head, now genuinely frightened by Tony instead of merely unnerved by him. Not only was his face familiar, his name was too. She remembered it from somewhere, and she had a horrible feeling she knew where. Under the desk, where she normally kept all her dictionaries when they were not in the process of being packed, she pulled out a small pocket French book and flipped it open at 'C'. Turning quickly to 'cauchemar', her heart sank on realising where she knew the word from.

Cauchemar was French for nightmare.

Suddenly, a sensation hit Della, with such force it could almost be described as being physically dealt a hard blow to the stomach. She knew, in that instant, why she knew Tony from somewhere else. The feeling of dread and fear heightened, but Della knew that it was not her own emotions that she was feeling. As her knees gave way and she slid heavily from her box to the floor, she could see the bookshop swimming in front of her eyes, taking her away into memories and nightmares that weren't hers. She remembered Tony, from a time when he called himself something different to Cauchemar but something equally chilling. She remembered his smile, more of a leer in the distorted light. She remembered what he had done.

It took a while for Della to realise that she was curled on the floor of the bookshop, crying uncontrollably behind the desk, and even longer for her to finally pull herself together, dry her eyes and drag herself back onto the box that served as her temporary chair, staring down at the book that had begun the whole exchange, still lying there on the mahogany like a stark, mocking reminder of what she had just witnessed.

Della herself did not recognise the mysterious Tony, but someone else did. When Constance Hardbroom had established a link between them in order to channel Della's inherent magic, the link had died as soon as Della's magic was spent. But whilst the link was open, and Della's magic was travelling through into Constance's body, some things had come the other way across the connection. Memories, for instance...

Della buried her head in her hands with a groan. Did Tony realise her connection with Constance, even on a social level as opposed to a metaphysical one? Should she warn them at the Academy? Della didn't know what to do, but she had the awful feeling that Tony, the book and the letter were all horribly intertwined in some way. If only she knew how...

* * *

**Note: ***Kimmeth has nothing else to add, and sits back to admire the gobsmacked faces of her readers whilst pointing to the 'review' button.*


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: **Here we are! Chapter six. Enjoy! I also have in my first culture reference, although I don't think anyone will get it because my mind works in extremely convoluted ways.  


* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Six**

Amelia looked round the gathered occupants of the staffroom, her heart sinking when she realised just how ill-equipped she was to deal with another chaotic catastrophe. Imogen had left earlier that morning after receiving a telegram from her aunt, who was ill and in need of someone to look after her. Imogen, being the only remaining member of her family, had felt obliged to go herself rather than arrange for her to be put into a care home or hospital. Mr Blossom and Mrs Tapioca (now Tapioca-Blossom, or 'Mrs T-B' as the students had taken to calling her) were still trapped in Rome after a long weekend to visit the latter's relations, a freak storm grounding all flights out of the country for a week. Only Davina and Constance were left. Davina had tactfully made no mention of the previous night's events, but Amelia could catch her casting worried glances sideways towards Constance every now and then, when she reached the end of a row in her knitting. Constance was her usual brusque, prickly self, also avoiding all talk of the circumstances that had brought the three senior witches together in the middle of the night. Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia saw her deputy surreptitiously stir a vial of Wide-Awake Potion into her cup of tea, and she guessed with a grimace that Constance had not even attempted to go back to sleep after she had been woken in the middle of her nightmare.

"Ladies," said Amelia, unable to put off the inevitable any longer, "I think that by now, you are both aware that we have a situation on our hands."

Constance stiffened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment her teacup shook before she put it on the table and pressed her hands together in her lap.

"Perhaps it has worked to our advantage that Imogen, Frank and Maria have left us temporarily; as non-magicians, this is one state of affairs in which I think it would be better that they were absent." Amelia paused, still hopelessly ignorant of how to phrase her next sentence as she had absolutely no idea what was occurring, even less so why. "Ladies, something is stirring, something beyond our control." Her gaze wandered around the room and caught the window, where the sky had darkened to formidable indigo only moments before, another ominous warning of things to come. Ever since the Alchemist's Shield had fallen upon the castle for their two days trapped in a limbo before the final confrontation in the ninth circle, Amelia had always been wary of sudden darkness surrounding the castle, and this latest weather phenomenon was doing nothing to alleviate her unease. Constance appeared to register her distraction.

"Yes, when the sky turns the colour of Mrs Tapioca's blueberry crumble surprise in the middle of the day, that does usually signify that something is rather amiss."

"I think it is safe to say," said Amelia, "that the forces we are currently facing should not be underestimated in any way." She sighed. "Whilst we don't know exactly what we are up against, the circumstances seem to be pointing in a very definite direction."

Just then, she was interrupted by a thunderous knocking on the staffroom door. Such a sound in the middle of morning break time was in no way usual, and therefore it was always an indicator of something out of the ordinary having occurred, and as such should never be ignored, even in the middle of an important discussion.

"Come in," Amelia called, and five younger witches spilled into the room in their haste.

"Mildred Hubble, Maud Moonshine, Enid Nightshade!" exclaimed Constance, her temper heightened as it always was in stressful circumstances. "Why aren't you wearing school uniform? And Fenella? Grizelda? What on Earth is going on? Explain yourselves!"

"It's urgent, Miss Hardbroom," said Mildred, panting from where she had evidently sprinted the length of the corridor with the others in hot pursuit. She held out a black envelope of a paper with a curious sheen to it. "We believe this is addressed to you."

Gingerly, Constance moved forward and took the letter, reading the words on the front carefully before sliding out the paper from inside.

"I found it on my floor this morning," continued Mildred, "and I took it to Della Spinder to translate." She paused. "It's in pig Latin. Can you read it, Miss?"

Constance nodded, sinking back into her chair as she did so, her eyes skimming back and forth over the letters, rereading the entire text twice before she put the letter down on the table, letting the stony silence envelop the room.

"Miss Hardbroom?" Maud ventured timidly.

Amelia's heart leapt to her mouth as she saw her usually so stoic deputy's already grey complexion pale even further, if that were possible. When she looked up from the letter to the rest of the gathered witches, Amelia saw a genuine fear in her eyes that she had seen only twice before. Once when the tyrannical Hecketty Broomhead had put in a showing at the Academy in her capacity as an Ofwitch inspector, and once in the depths of the ninth circle, when the Devil had appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind. The unbridled terror in her face cut Amelia to her very soul, and she wondered that someone so unflappable and unaffected by the usual traumas of the magical world could be so deeply struck when she was affected by common fear. Perhaps the very fact that she did not usually experience as much petty fear as the rest of them made her own terror so much more intense.

"Constance," Amelia said, her voice carrying a slightly warning note. Both times that she had seen Constance in such a state of fear, the younger witch had carried with her a certain sense of unpredictability that made Amelia nervous, as if she could not anticipate the 'staunch traditionalist's next move. Whilst she knew that Constance would never do anything remotely stupid on impulse, she was still a little anxious as to what she might do in this state of mental anguish. Leaving the letter on the table, she rose in her usual dignified manner and left the room at a brisk pace that was almost, but not quite, a run. Amelia hovered, half-in and half-out of her seat for a moment, torn between going after her deputy and staying with the girls and Davina, trying to make sense of the situation. She wanted to choose the former, and whilst her rational head told her that to do so was sensible; that going after Constance would tell them the contents of the letter and perhaps shed some light on their terrifying predicament, her emotional heart was simply commanding her to go and comfort a fellow human being in obvious distress. Yet another part of her told her that Constance would not appreciate the tail when she had left the room so purposefully. She looked to Davina, and the elder witch's eyes flickered briefly but deliberately towards the door. Amelia's choice was made. She ran to the door and yanked it open, stepping out into the corridor to see Constance at the end of it, by the staircase. She began to make chase, but Constance had already vanished into thin air before Amelia could finish articulating the first syllable of her name. Thwarted, Amelia stopped in the centre of the corridor, unable to go further when she could not be sure of the potions teacher's final destination. For a moment she was reminded of a similar incident almost exactly two years prior, when Amanda Honeydew had bought the building and the insufferable Ian Hallow had proposed his new plans. Constance had once again stormed out of the staffroom in her inimitable way after handing in her resignation, but that time her emotional fallout had been one of sadness, rather than the usual fury that accompanied such an action. Amelia leaned heavily on the balustrade that surrounded the small inner courtyard, the scene coming back to her and unfolding in front of her eyes as if she was back in the past once more.

"_Constance!" she called, following her deputy out of the room without a second thought for the Chair of Governors she had left stranded with Imogen and Davina. She knew that the two women were more than capable of fending for themselves, and at that moment she couldn't give a damn what they decided to do to Hallow in retaliation, not when he had just lost her the best teacher that Cackle's had ever known. "Constance!" she repeated, but her deputy was ignoring her. _

_Amelia blamed herself for the most part; she should have let the other staff know what was going one as soon as she had got into financial difficulties with the cost of the castle's upkeep, but at the time she had thought better of it. Now she was regretting that decision, and she knew that the fearsome potions teacher blamed her as well. _

"_Constance," she tried once more as she caught up to the taller woman's brisk strides. "Please stop, please come back. We need you Constance."_

_Constance stopped dead in her tracks, and Amelia had to come to a sudden halt to prevent running into her, but she did not turn around. _

"_I admit, I should have told you before," she panted, struggling to regain her breath. "Please Constance, why won't you look at me?"_

_There was no reaction for a few agonisingly long seconds before Constance turned to face the headmistress. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she folded her arms, but the thing that struck Amelia most was her face. Tears were pouring silently down her cheeks, the skin beneath her eyes scarlet with something that Amelia could only describe as despair. This was why she would not face her before. From somewhere to the left of the two witches, Amelia heard a gasp and turned to see a pupil peering around the staircase. Constance too heard the interruption and vanished on the spot, and Amelia knew that she had lost her, if not forever then for as long as Constance did not want to be found by the headmistress. _

Amelia sighed, still thankful to the day that Constance had chosen to reappear when she did, and that her heartfelt letter of resignation was no more. But the despair in her eyes, the complete and utter gnawing dejection she had felt on purposefully walking out of the home, the job, the life that she loved, had stayed with Amelia forever. It was remarkably similar to her expression of fear. Suddenly, Amelia knew where she could find her deputy, and she set off towards the dungeons, still thinking about events long-gone. To this day it was the only time she had seen Constance cry, except once with pain and once in sleep. It was certainly the only time she had seen her cry from an emotional source rather than an unconscious or reactionary one. Always one to keep her feelings tightly under wraps, Constance had intentionally let her guard down that day, intentionally let Amelia see her true emotional core. Such an intimate action had not been repeated before or since, and as far as Amelia understood, Constance would retreat to her hiding place whenever she came close to losing the tight control she had over her mental reactions. She reached the door to the dungeons and opened it a fraction, immediately breaking the Containment Shield. The sound of racked sobbing pervaded her perception and, edging a little further into the room, Amelia saw a black-clad figure sat at the table through the tattered hessian drapes, hunched over as she muffled shaking sobs into her crossed arms.

"Constance?" Amelia whispered, knowing that Constance would not like the intrusion but determined to do so anyway, feeling that her presence would, in the long term, do more good than her absence could.

"Go away," sniffed Constance. "Please, Miss Cackle, leave me alone."

"My dear, you are in floods of tears and a very obvious distress. I would not make a good headmistress if I could simply leave someone in such a state alone."

Constance sat up, covering her face with her hands, and Amelia advanced into the room, holding out a handkerchief. Constance accepted the item gratefully and dried her eyes before facing Amelia.

"I thought this was my secret hiding place," she muttered weakly, any indignation she was trying to portray lost through her snuffly voice, "but it seems the world and her cat know where to find me."

"We all know each other more than we like to think," said Amelia gently.

"You don't," sighed Constance. "You honestly don't know me at all, Amelia." She looked the headmistress directly in the eye, and Amelia could see the pleading in her face. "Don't ask it," she said. "Whatever it is that you want to ask. I know it's important. I know that you need to know. And I will let you know. But not now. Please. Not like this. Give me a little time, and you shall know everything there is to know about Constance Pandora Hardbroom."

Amelia nodded, remaining with her deputy in silence for a few moments. The letter must have contained something truly remarkable, if it had caused Constance to admit to her own hated middle name. Much as she was loathe to intrude on the younger witch's private life, she knew that it had to be done. But for the moment, they could wait until the time was right.

* * *

**Note2: **All will be revealed very soon...

In the meantime... *Kimmeth jerks head towards 'review' button.*


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: **I am in an especially happy mood after spending the day with my folks, who came all the way from home to see me! So, since I am feeling so euphoric, allow me to present to you the next chapter of **Pandora's Box**.

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Seven**

Fenny wandered around the familiar territory of the library, running her hands loving along the spines of the books she so adored as if she had never been away. She finally felt at home. Weirdsister was fun, yes, and she had certainly learned a lot, although her tutor would argue that not much of it was destined to be of any use in attaining her degree, but it just couldn't compare to Cackle's for character. At the college, everything was clean, modern, working properly and with only the hint of tradition. Like Mildred had said about the ill-fated plans for Hallow's new school all those many months ago, it was a good school, just not a proper witchy one. Here, the books were dusty in the extreme, old and mildewed and cobwebbed; the only fingerprints being her own from years previous. This was a proper witch library, ancient, unkempt, with corners hitherto unknown about coming to light after generations of witches had passed through the school. From the back wall, she could hear Maud and Enid regaling Griz with the tale of the Heritage that dwelled there beneath the paint, something that not even Fenny and Griz themselves had found on their comprehensive searches of the library for the best and most interesting books. Idly steering down an aisle into a rarely disturbed part of the room, with its ceiling now rising like a vault above her, Fenny pondered how it came to be that the most dangerous and disturbing volumes were always housed in the darkest part of the library. One needed a candle in the middle of the day if one was going to see to read the titles that could be found on these particular shelves, much less search for a specific book, as Fenny was doing. Everything at Weirdsister was done with a mix of magic and computers, and books could be found at the click of a finger or mouse. There was no sense of mystery or intrigue, no feeling that you'd discovered something that might have been forgotten about since the Norman times. In truth, Fenny was homesick, but for Cackle's rather than her true home with her parents and little brothers. The road had been long and gruelling at times, but she could honestly say that she had spent the best years of her life so far holed up in this very library, finding out all manner of things that would have rocked the school if they had been made public. It was rare to find a secret at Weirdsister, due to the sheer number of students if nothing else. Fenny sighed. The number of times she had found herself sneaking around the corridors at night before realising that she no longer had a curfew was beginning to get ridiculous, and, much as she hated to admit it, she had found herself wishing that HB would pop up out of nowhere. Fenny had even taken to saying indescribably horrible, if untrue, things about her in the vain hope that she might pick up on the vibes from a distance and put in an appearance.

Fenny wasn't sure of Griz's feelings, whether she had a similar yearning to be back at Cackle's or whether she was perfectly content with her current situation. The amount of time that the two spent reminiscing seemed to indicate the former, and some of their experimental potion projects harkened back to the 'good old days' of getting one up on the teachers and consequently trying to get out of paying the price. Fenny sighed and threw herself back into her research to take her mind off things. After Miss Hardbroom and Miss Cackle had left the staffroom in such a rush following the presentation of the all-important letter, the five deliverers had taken it upon themselves to try and work out what the mysterious correspondence had inferred. Fenny was now on a mission to find a very specific tome that she remembered from years gone by.

Whilst it was true that the Void was never mentioned in the magic books except as a dire warning that it should never be opened, Pandora's Box was a well known phenomenon. If perhaps, as the cryptic letter had insinuated, the Void and the box were somehow interlinked, then the legend of Pandora's Box could give them an insight into the kind of threat that the castle was currently facing. In her very first term at Cackle's, Fenny had discovered an extremely old book of legends that was falling apart, so decrepit that the pages would crumble into dust if the reader did not exercise the utmost care when handling them. It gave the most detailed account of the Pandora's Box legend that Fenny had ever read, and she was determined to find it once more.

She had just reached the shelf where instinct was guiding her to seek it when a sound like thunder seemed to rumble along the floor beneath her feet. She could almost feel it more than hear it, the low reverberations carrying through the soft soles of her flip-flops.

"Was that your stomach Fen?" called Griz from the back wall, obviously in jest.

"No," Fenny called back, a more-than-equal sparring partner. "I thought it was yours."

"So whose was it then?"

The rumbling came again, a little louder this time, and despite everything, Fenny was a little scared. She scanned the shelves for her book and found it tucked away at the back, carefully manoeuvring it out of its slot before running as fast as her impractical footwear would allow out of the aisle. She bumped into someone halfway down and screamed in the darkness before there was a clicking sound and Griz's face was illuminated by the glow from her fingers.

"Are you alright?" she asked her friend, all traces of humour gone from her voice and now simply worried for her friend's well-being. "You sounded like you were being chased."

"No, just... uneasy." Fenny looked around at the darkness enveloping her and shivered, thinking once more about the darkest books in the darkest parts of the school. She nodded out towards the bright light at the end of the aisle. "Let's get out of here."

They made their way towards the table in the centre of the room, still unconsciously looking around them for the source of the sound. Mildred, Maud and Enid met them at the table, each with a pile of other books that might yield some useful information about their current predicament.

"What is that noise?" Enid asked plainly, voicing everyone's troubled thoughts. "It sounds a bit like a lion in distress."

Several seconds passed in silence as the girls stood around the table, waiting for the rumbling roar to sound again, but there was nothing. If it was not for the confirmation of the others, Fenny would hazard to think that perhaps she had imagined it. When it became apparent that they were not going to hear the noise again, the girls sat down by mutual consent, but still did not speak, occasionally glancing up from the books to glance furtively around the room, jumping at the slightest of sounds. No doubt the younger witches were thinking back to the time spent in the library earlier in the year during the castle's sojourn in hell. Fenny wondered what it must have been like for them, trapped in a helpless bubble, just watching and waiting for the end to come, the only comfort coming from the books and their own flagging optimism. She carefully turned the pages of her own book, searching for the Pandora myth and reading the passages carefully before beckoning the other girls over.

"Here," she said, tapping the paragraph with her index finger just below a sepia illustration of a classical beauty holding a jar, about to lift the lid to peer at the contents inside. The others bent over to read and Fenny spent a long time digesting the full meaning of the words.

_The legend of Pandora's Box. In Greek mythology, Pandora was the first woman, created by Hephaestus under orders from Zeus. Along with power and beauty, she was also gifted with the curse of curiosity. When she was given the box, or jar as it should theoretically be known according to the exact translation, she was told under no circumstances to open it. _

"It sounds like the Void," snorted Griz. "Under no circumstances should you open it, but no-one tells you what's in it in the first place." She fell silent again after this miniature tirade and continued reading along with Fenny's finger as it moved along the page.

_Naturally, Pandora's curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box. In doing so, all of the evils that man now knows – disease, despair, manual labour, and indeed wickedness itself – were released into the world. The last thing to fly out of the jar, however, was hope, meaning that whilst humankind would always know suffering, it would also always know hope and could strive towards a better future. There is much argument among scholars as to whether Pandora's act of opening the box is a malicious one done out of spite to purposefully unleash the evils upon the world, or simply an act of curiosity. It is said that she closed the box as soon as she had opened it, having realised the horrors that she had unleashed, but the damage had already been done, the contents had already flown, and the evils of the box were now beyond her control._

"Cripes," said Enid simply, stepping back from the book, the others following suit. "If the Devil is using the box as a synonym for the Void, we're all doomed, aren't we? He'll open the Void and all the evils of the world will fly out."

"But the evils of the world already exist," pointed out Griz. "We already got those from Pandora millennia ago, and the letter did say that he'd _already_ opened the Void. I think we'd notice if all the evil in the world suddenly appeared out of nowhere, don't you?"

Enid said nothing, but the momentary glance towards the floor was indicative in itself of what Fenny was thinking. The strange roaring from below them could not be coincidental, not given their circumstances. Fenny was loathe to believe in fate, always being of the firm opinion that everything happened for a reason and now she was even more convinced of this than ever. Whatever the strange noise was, it was most definitely linked with the Void, whether it was indicative of something that had escaped or not.

"Something's come out of the Void," said Maud darkly, evidently taking the former approach. "Or is trying to at least. I'm not as worried about that, scary as the thought is. I'm more worried about this." She tapped the page and Fenny re-read the sentence the younger witch was indicating.

_The evils of the box were now beyond her control._

"I don't even want to think about the implications of that," muttered Enid. "If the Void is the box, and the Devil is Pandora, does that mean that the evils of the Void are going to be beyond his control?"

"Surely not," said Griz. "He's the Devil. We may not like him, but you've got to concede his power. What could possibly be more powerful than the Devil?"

"The Liaison," said Mildred. "Della. She was supposed to be more powerful than the Devil, but I don't see how that could be an evil thing. Surely that's a good thing."

"So..." Griz sat back, trying to make sense of the situation. "It either goes that whatever comes out of the Void, the Devil can control it, or it's a Liaison and beyond his control, in which case it doesn't matter anyway."

Mildred shrugged, shaking her head in despair, and Fenny could feel the strong emotion emanating from her companion in waves. She could sympathise completely; knowing what they now did having drawn the parallels that, in all honesty, they had no idea whether or not were correct, they were no more enlightened than before, probably even less so.

Before Fenny could think on the mysterious contents of the ever more sinister Void, the rumbling came again. It was only momentary, cutting off almost before it began, but it was louder than ever, and definitely not the result of an overactive imagination. The books on the table shook ever so slightly at the sound that could only be described as a spine-chilling, animalistic roar.

* * *

**Note2: **I hope you enjoyed that! Coming up we learn more about the mysterious Tony, and we plunge head-first into Constance's shadowed past...

In the meantime... *Kimmeth, having momentarily misplaced her pointing stick, borrows Neville from NCD's film crew and uses one of his crutches to indicate the 'review' button.*


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: **Ok everyone, don your SCUBA gear because we're about to dive headfirst into Constance's past. This chapter is told mostly in flashback.

I would also like to say that this chapter and the next (t'is a two part flashback) were the most challenging chapters I have written. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, I hope you continue to enjoy it.

The poem quote is from 'Rhapsody on a Windy Night' by T.S. Eliot.  


* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Eight**

It was the same nightmare as always; by now Constance had come to anticipate the visions of her slumber but she could never divine the subtle changes that would constantly pervade her dreams, unnerving her more than a simple replay of the hellish events could. She could anticipate the Devil's next actions as she backed away from him in the terrifying blackness of the limbo to which she was transported without fail every time she closed her eyes.

_No_, she said firmly, declining his offer to join him and rule the world through chaos. _That is my final answer._

He made no reply, instead simply disappearing from view, and Constance could almost feel his groping hand around her waist before it materialised there. As she struggled in his grasp, she turned, seeing his face fully in the stark half-light, eyes glittering like rubies above a sinister, seductive smile. Constance screamed. This was not the face of the demon she had been used to seeing in her dreams. This was the face of someone far deadlier...

Constance woke with her face pressed into her pillow, muffling her choked shriek. It took a few moments for her to gather her thoughts and fall silent, quickly checking that the surreptitious Containment Shield was still in place around her door and that Amelia had not chosen this particular night to do any more investigation into her deputy's nocturnal habits. She turned over, staring up at the ceiling as if that would give her some sort of insight into her course of action. If the terrible letter had planted the seeds of gnawing doubt in her mind, then this latest dream had just confirmed them. She continued to stare, unthinking, for a few moments before she glanced at the clock on her bedside table, giving a weak snort at the irony that it should be exactly midnight. Constance remembered a quote from a poem that she had read many decades ago as a girl. _Midnight shakes the memory_. How terribly true that was. Constance wiped the welling tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, her mind already tumbling uncontrollably back through time to the moment when this awful affair had begun. Not a matter of mere months, but twenty long, long years...

_Constance was eighteen when she first set foot in the famed halls of Weirdsister College, wide-eyed in wonder and quiet as a church mouse in shyness, long plait flopping down her back with every tentative step that she took along the marbled corridors. It was so different from the life she was used to, a cloistered, strict upbringing and an all-girls' school had not prepared her for the perils of the outside world, being lectured in classes of up to fifty students, most importantly of both sexes. The whole experience was proving to be rather overwhelming, and by the time Constance had found her flat and settled her suitcase, which had been hovering along in the air behind her, on her bed, she was perfectly ready to remain in her room for the next three years of her degree and never deign to come out for anyone, let alone to meet the strange group of girls who were her flatmates. Before long however, a knock at the door had put paid to these plans. _

"_Hello?" came a bright voice through the wood. "Is there anyone in there?"_

_Constance took a deep breath and opened the door, narrowly avoiding walking into a cup of tea that was levitating at eye-line. _

"_Woops," said the same voice, coming forward to claim the mug before it could cause any more accidents, but Constance beat her to it, fingers curling around the mug in the air and feeling the warm liquid within permeate through the china. The girl smiled and extended a hand towards Constance's free one. _

"_I'm Alison," she said. _

"_Constance."_

_That moment was the beginning of an extremely unlikely friendship. Alison could not be a further opposite of Constance, with her naturally bubbly personality and instant ease in any social situation. She made the transition a slightly less daunting process for the young witch, effortlessly carving a path through the twin perils of strange people and strange places for her friend to follow in her footsteps. Alison seemed to know everywhere and everyone, and if there was anyone she didn't know, she had no qualms about simply introducing herself (and Constance). Constance could never have done this, her subconscious mind sticking firmly to the notions of 'keep oneself to oneself'. She had always known that she would have to grow up quickly when she went to university, but she had never dreamed that the process could be as enjoyable as Alison made it. She had become a sort of project to the witch more experienced in life; despairing of her naiveté and conservatism, Alison had dragged Constance round the local department stores in search of an entirely new wardrobe, and spent many an hour using her as a human guinea-pig whilst she attempted to make her over into the blossoming young woman that she should have been, rather than the scared little girl that she felt like on the inside. _

"_Confidence and control, that's the key" said Alison brightly. "Who cares if you're a quivering wreck on the inside? As long as you look the part, no-one need ever know."_

_Constance was not quite sure how much she agreed with this philosophy, but she went along with her friend's schemes, anxious to experience everything that she could now that she was free from her parents' tight controls and she realised that if she wanted to do something, she could do it. She didn't need to ask permission, nor fear the remonstrations should her request turn out to be unsuited to her family's ideals. As overwhelming and fear-inspiring as she found the new life, Constance loved it, although she knew that she would not have been able to cope without the friendly face of Alison by her side, gently nudging her in the right direction. _

_One night, in the pub round the corner from their hall of residence, after a particularly ambitious make-up session in Alison's tiny bedroom that had taken the majority of the afternoon, Constance felt the sudden sensation of being watched. She glanced furtively around the crowded room, and he caught her eye immediately, holding her gaze for just a fraction of a second too long before looking away, suddenly interested in the display of peanuts behind the bar. _

"_That guy," Alison whispered in her ear, turning away from their wider group of friends for a moment, "has been staring at you for the last ten minutes."_

_Constance just looked at her in mute horror, terrified that she should have produced such a reaction in the opposite sex. Alison smiled wider than her friend had ever known and nodded towards the mysterious stranger. _

"_Go on," she said. "Men are always far too chicken to make the first move." She prodded Constance in the arm. "I told you that red lipstick had you written all over it, and you wouldn't believe me."_

"_Me?" Constance mouthed. _

"_Yes, you, you beauty. He'll move on if he thinks you aren't interested, so grab your chance when you get it girl!"_

"_But what if I'm not interested?"_

_Alison raised an eyebrow, and Constance felt her blush rise beneath her make-up. She looked at the man for a few moments, sizing up his profile. He was indeed one of the better specimens that she had seen around the campus, looking a little more stylish, a little more mature than the eager wizards fresh from school, their faces still marked by acne and their wardrobes suffering from the lack of a mother's guiding hand. _

"_If you don't do it yourself, I'll do it for you," warned Alison, and in that moment Constance's mind was made up. Alison had tried to set her up on various occasions prior to this one, and the experience was always excruciatingly embarrassing. She slowly slid out of her seat and made her way nervously up to the bar, stationing herself beside the handsome stranger. _

"_Hello," he said, his voice smooth, charismatic, and, as Constance would later realise all too well, thrillingly dangerous. _

"_Hello," she replied, trying to mask the quavering in her words. "I'm Constance."_

"_Constance..." He tried the name for size, looking her up and down. "Such a straightlaced name for such a pretty young witch as yourself."_

"_You know?" Constance gasped, she had always been taught to keep her magic secret from the world of the non-magicians, not wanting to scare them into a frenzy of whatever the modern equivalent of burning at the stake might be. _

"_Of course," he said lightly, shielding his right hand from view as he drew a perfect rose in mid-air and handed it to her as it solidified into true shape. "One magician can always tell another. Now, about this name of yours. I really don't think that it suits one such as yourself. May I call you Connie?"_

_Constance was silent, taken aback. She had never been called Connie in her life before. She had only ever been Constance, the shortened form had never crossed her mind._

"_If you tell me what to call you," she countered, trying in vain to remember everything that Alison had taught her in her 'how to talk to the opposite sex' crash course just the previous evening after her friend had despaired of Constance's lack of experience in such a field. _

"_Anthony," he said, bowing as low as the barstool would allow. "But since we are dispensing with formal names, you may call me Tony." He looked around the crowded room, glancing somewhat furtively at the table where Alison and the rest of Constance's friends were sitting, trying to pretend that they weren't watching her every move with deep interest. "Shall we go somewhere a little quieter to talk?"_

_Constance nodded, feeling eyes boring into her back for the second time that evening as Tony handed her off the barstool and guided her out of the pub doors, and she wondered what Alison would say when she returned. _

"_Now, don't be scared," said Tony, still keeping a hold of her left hand whilst her right one clutched her rose tightly. "I just want to show you something."_

_Before Constance could protest, she found herself transported, the streets of Cambridge melting away beneath her into a river._

"_What have you done!" she exclaimed on seeing her new surroundings, wrenching herself away from Tony and looking out over the Thames from the centre of Tower Bridge. _

"_Now you can say, when asked, that we met in a truly dramatic location, instead of some dingy local pub round the corner from the university."_

"_This is..." Constance was lost for words. "This is just wrong!" she said eventually, but she couldn't help laughing at the romance of the situation, at the sudden thrill that being with this unpredictable man gave her. _

"_Well, now we're here," he said, gesturing the London landscape, "what shall we do? I hear the Bolshoi is playing, if you'd be interested?"_

"_No." Constance shook her head firmly. "No, this is madness! Take me home! Alison and the others will be wondering where I've got to!"_

_Tony smiled wickedly for a second before sensing that the fear intermingled with her sudden delight was genuine. He took her hand once more and vanished with her, reappearing outside the pub that they had left only moments before._

"_My apologies," he said, bowing once more. "I simply wanted to sweep you off your feet."_

_Constance couldn't speak. The past few seconds had been so unlike anything else she had ever experienced in her life. She had been scared, yes, but also... she couldn't find words to describe the feeling. All she knew was that it was a feeling she would not be averse to experiencing again. They returned to the warmth of the building, her head still spinning._

_As the first astounding few minutes turned into hours, and the hours in turn became a date, which in turn became another date, Constance thought that in Tony Pesadilla she had found her knight in shining armour from the fairy tales she had adored as a child and secretly loved still. If she, with her thirty inches of plait, was Rapunzel, then Tony was her charming prince, willing to risk life and limb to save her from her self-constructed tower of shyness and social anxiety..._

The need to dry the tears that spilled from under her tightly closed lids brought Constance momentarily back to the present, to the safety of Cackle's.

"Stupid," she muttered to her younger self as she dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief, still able to picture the pretty teenager twirling in front of the mirror in her little university bedroom. "You were so stupid, so trusting, so naive."

Almost as if she was unable to stop herself, Constance's mind found itself once more in freefall, returning to confront a past that she had tried to keep buried for two decades...

* * *

**Note2: **To be continued! Keep those snorkels on folks!

Oh, and REVIEW! Please!


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: **Here is where the story earns itself its rating. You have been warned, it does contain some serious and possibly affecting stuff. In all my years of writing (I have been doing it since I was eight), I have never written anything quite so tough as this. I hope it comes out ok.

I also have my second veiled reference in here, this time to the film 'Watchmen', which is one of my favourites. Points to anyone who can guess it. (Except NCD, who already knows what it is...)

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Nine**

Still cursing the decisions and mistakes that her younger self had made, Constance found herself reliving the dreadful memory, watching the past unfold as if it were beyond her control...

_One day, at Tony's flat, after they had been an unofficial item for two months, he presented her with a necklace, a silver and black pentacle 'for my little witch, Connie'. _

_Constance looked at in amazement. It wasn't expensive, but the thought of being gifted something by a man had been so alien to her up until that point, she was dumbstruck for a few moments. _

"_I'll never take it off," she promised as he fastened it round her neck, his unnaturally warm fingers lingering against her skin for a second longer than she thought strictly necessary. She bit her lip, saying nothing. She was sure that Alison would just accuse her of being prudish. He came round to face her again, and for the first time she saw something else in his dark chocolate brown eyes, so deep they were almost black, soulless wells. It was a sort of hunger. Constance shivered inwardly. He leaned in, as if to kiss her, but then he pulled away at the last minute with a smile, teasing her. He went over to the kitchen table, where the remains of their romantic celebratory meal were still spread out, slowly going cold as the candles burned low in the dusky moonlight, and picked up the bottle of wine, filling Constance's glass almost to the brim before handing it to her once more and indicating the sofa. _

"_Make yourself comfortable," he purred. Constance took a sip of her wine and eased her aching feet out of her stilettos. They were a size too small but she had fallen in love with them in the shop, and as they were closing down, there would be no more stock. She kept her eyes on her feet, ignoring the way that Tony's arm around her shoulders kept creeping ever lower._

"_To us," she said pointedly, raising her glass and chinking it against his before taking a big gulp to steady her nerves._

"_To us," Tony agreed. "Tony and Connie, two months and counting."_

_His hand crept from her shoulder over her collarbone, brushing at the empire neckline of her dress. She slapped his hand lightly, and the playful gesture seemed to work for the time being, but she could not deny the lustful look in his eyes. _

"_You really are beautiful Connie," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her ear. "And that dress is most becoming. I'm so glad you let Alison talk you out of your prim and proper dirndl."_

"_I did not wear dirndl!" Constance protested, but she was focussing on Tony's words less than his wandering hands. She knew where this was headed, and she didn't like it. She wasn't ready. Yes, she had abandoned a lot of the strict rules of her childhood in the past month, but she still kept some of her moral ideals close to her heart, and this was one of them. She wasn't going to throw herself at the first man to make eyes at her in a pub after only two months of courting, even if he did buy her beautiful jewellery and whisk her away to London at the drop of a hat. Tony continued, ignoring her remarks, his voice sending judders down Constance's spine like it always did, but this time it was not a pleasant sensation. _

"_Perhaps," he growled, "I can talk you out of this one."_

_Her head fuzzy from the wine, Constance didn't pick up on the meaning of his words until too late, and he had already swept her up into his arms and vanished with her, materialising in the bedroom. The sudden travel made her head spin even more, and she staggered as he set her feet on the ground, falling against him heavily for support. She heard him chuckle wickedly and attempted to pull herself upright again, but he was holding her in a vice-grip, one finger hooked under the strap of her backless dress, borrowed from Alison._

"_I really am most intrigued to see what you wear under this," he remarked, his other hand tracing a line across her bare back where her bra should have been had she been wearing one. Constance shivered, and he must have mistaken the cause as he then pushed her gently backwards onto the bed. Constance shook her head, attempting to resist his touch. _

"_No Tony," she mumbled, wishing that she had refused his continual top-ups, and realising only now that she had drunk the majority of the bottle. "Not now. I don't want to."_

"_You know you want to really," he whispered huskily, catching a hand under her knee and running it up her thigh. Constance struggled against his heavy weight on top of her, his slimy mouth molesting her own._

"_No, Tony" she panted. "No."_

"_Is that no spelled Y-E-S?" He grinned, showing teeth half a shade too white. Constance felt truly petrified. _

"_No spelled N-O," she said firmly, wishing she could keep the quiver of fear from her voice. She trusted Tony, she had always trusted him, but now she was not so sure. Surely he would never hurt her? Surely he wouldn't force her if he knew how scared she was? That first night in London, he had taken her home when she asked, hadn't he? Respected the fact that she was frightened? "I'm scared, Tony, don't do this."_

"_The first time's always scary, Connie," he said, his sly fingers reaching the gusset of her knickers. Constance knew then that he wasn't going to stop, and all rational thought fled as base instinct kicked in. She squeezed her thighs together, crushing his hand between her legs to the point of pain. He growled at this, and suddenly she found herself flipped over, face down on the bed with Tony's weight straddling her back. _

"_There's no need to be so... defensive," he said, some of the earlier charisma returning to his voice but this serving only to make it more terrifying. Constance did the only thing she knew she could in the circumstances: let her magic get the better of her, sparks shooting from her fingertips with enough force to shock him away from her. _

_The noise he made was close to that of an enraged animal, no human sound could compare. The face that she had once found so beautiful was twisted in anger. _

"_I'll have what I want, you little whore!" he roared, lunging for her again, catching the bottom of her dress as she scrambled to her feet and ripping it from hem to thigh, but Constance was ready, sending a fireball in his direction. It missed and caught the bedpost, sending it bursting into flame. _

"_You'll pay for that!" he screamed, but before he could reach her again Constance had closed her eyes and concentrated all her magic on disappearing. She materialised in the street outside and her knees buckled from the sudden transportation, unused to it as she was. She looked up at the dark room where she had been a split second before, caught her breath, and began to run; all the way home to her own flat, crashing through the door almost before she had opened it. _

"_Con? Connie?"_

_Constance could hear Alison's voice carrying after her as she ran past the kitchen and into the blissful safety of her own room, allowing the tears to fall noisily as she collapsed against the door and slid down it till she was just a crumpled heap of torn silk and cut, bleeding feet._

_"Connie, what's the matter? Did he break up with you or something? Connie, talk to me." Alison's voice was pleading, and genuinely scared, but Constance couldn't face her. She couldn't face anyone._

_She stayed in her room, not seeing anyone, not speaking to anyone, not eating. The messages through her door changed as time wore on._

_"Connie, people have been saying they heard sounds of a fight at Tony's place last night."_

_"Connie, you've got to eat."_

_"Connie, did he hurt you?"_

_"Connie, please come out."_

_"Connie, you've been in there two days. You need to talk to someone! Professor Ravenswing's getting worried about you, it's not like you to skip lectures."_

_"Constance Pandora Hardbroom, if you don't come out this minute I'll pour your Wide-Awake down the sink!"_

_She did emerge, eventually. After three days. But the Constance Hardbroom who came out of her room, suitcase in hand, ready to transfer her studies to the Witch Training College, was not the same happy, carefree teenager that she had been so shortly before. Her long curls that he – she couldn't even bear to think his name – had so often admired were scraped back into the tight braid she had worn before her transformation at Alison's hands, her stark black dresses long, high-necked, modest. Constance Pandora Hardbroom was a changed woman..._

Constance dragged herself out of the memory, not sure whether she was glad to be leaving it behind or reluctant to return to the present day and the terrible things that awaited her once the sun rose and she had to not only face up to the truth but also confront it head on. She turned her sodden pillow over and made to go back to sleep again, but she already knew that it was not going to come. Slowly, her fingers came up to her throat and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her pyjama top, finding the chain that had never left her skin in twenty years, pulling out the pentacle that she had refused to remove all that time ago. She had honoured her promise, she thought grimly. She stared at the charm as she turned it over and over in her fingers, the silver glowing, untarnished by the passing of the years, the black spots of jet on the points still glittering mockingly in the moonlight. Oh yes, she had kept the gift close to her heart, but not for sentimental reasons. Sitting on her bed all those years ago in her tattered dress, make-up smeared across her tear-streaked face and ringlets stiff from hairspray mussed and matted at the back of her head, Constance had made a decision to keep the charm as a reminder, a constant reminder of the damage that men could wreak, warning her never to be so trusting with her soul and her happiness.

Constance sighed and swung her legs out of bed, not feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. She pulled her dressing gown off the end of the bed, the pentacle still hanging loose over her pyjamas. It was time to tell the whole story. It was time to let Amelia know the true depth of her connection with the Devil, the same not-so-charming prince who had seduced her all those years before.

As she padded softly along the corridors to the headmistress's rooms, careful not to wake any of the rest of the school with her movements and not trusting herself to use materialisation in her shaken state of mind, Constance became increasingly aware of another presence walking with her. Looking around furtively, she caught a glimpse of a flash of black pattering along next to her ankles. Morgana had followed her out of the room and was keeping easy, if silent, pace with her long strides. Constance stopped and her cat sat back on her haunches beside her, looking up with glowing emerald eyes as if to question the reason for her sudden halt.

"Go on," she shooed, pointing back down the corridor to her own room. "I'm fine now," she continued, although she could not disguise the fact that her hands were still giving intermittent spasms of remembered fear. "I don't need a chaperone."

Morgana stayed in her position, statue-like, and when Constance picked her up and gently turned her round so that she was facing the other way, back in the direction they had just come from, she emitted a soft yowl, so quiet it was almost an inaudible grumble, as if she too did not want to wake the rest of the school, but with enough indignation to make Constance relent.

"Alright then, you can come with me if you must," she said, and Morgana seemed to be satisfied by this as they set off on their journey once more. Constance was not happy at this sudden company, not because she did not want an audience to her confession to Amelia, but because she was remembering her words to Mildred back in November, when the feline population of the entire school had joined together in a mournful cry, a call to arms to protect their human companions from the dangers they were about to face. Constance knew that witches' cats were highly attuned to the well-being of their owners, and she did not want to think about what this over-protectiveness on Morgana's part was leading to. She reached the headmistress's room and knocked softly.

"Amelia?" she called. "Amelia, it's Constance, I need to tell you something."

There was no reply, and this in itself perturbed Constance. Amelia was not renowned as a light sleeper, but Constance knew that in these recent weeks of magical disturbance originating from her own nightmares, her employer's slumber had been erratic at best.

"Amelia?" she asked, a little sharper, a little louder. "Are you alright?"

There was still no reply, silence save for the low grumbling of both Morgana and Miss Cackle's cat on the other side of the door. That settled matters for Constance. She cast a spell to unlock the door, and her hand went to her mouth in shock as she let the door swing open and the interior of the room was revealed...

* * *

**Note: ***Kimmeth has nothing else to say.*


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: **Thank you so much for all the positive feedback for the last two chapters, you don't know how nervous I was about them! Anyway, on with the show!

By the way, this also briefly references my story **Hair of the Dog**. Shameless self-publicity there but hey!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Ten**

Constance ran into the stifling room, throwing open the windows to allow some of the cool night air to circulate before going over to Amelia. The older witch was lying motionless on her bed, seemingly in slumber, but her ghastly, bluish-grey pallor and laboured breathing told a different story. Constance reached out to touch her perspiring forehead and gauge her temperature, but she was shocked back before her fingertips could make contact with the headmistress's clammy skin; violent, if tiny, indigo sparks pushing her back like the poles of magnets repelling each other. Constance felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she knew in that instant the cause of Amelia's dramatic change in health. The anger bubbled up in her throat.

"Where are you?" she hissed, turning round and searching the shadows of the room for any physical manifestation of the presence that had haunted her for two decades. "Where are you, you demon! I'm the one you want, not her! What did she do to deserve this?"

There was no response. She had not expected one. Constance felt sparks crackle under the skin of her fingertips and clenched her hands into fists, willing herself to keep a lid on her temper and frustration. For now, she had to concentrate on Amelia and alleviating her suffering. The search for the evil that had caused her obvious illness could wait until she was on the mend. Gingerly, she reached out a hand towards Amelia's forehead once more, not sure what reaction to expect this second time. The sparks from before came again, slightly more violent, but instead of pulling away, Constance persevered through the pain and brought her hand in to take Amelia's temperature. Despite the definite pale tinge to her complexion, she was burning up. After only a brief second, the agony from the constant shocking of the sparks became too much and Constance had to retreat, nursing her fingers in her other hand, worried. Producing sparks and static shock was a witch's natural defence system, a last resort should all other magic fail. She knew that distinctly from her own experiences. The sparks that Amelia was producing however... they were different, more vicious, almost as if they had a life of their own, and Constance couldn't tell if they were cause or effect of her mysterious illness. Either way, they only served to increase Constance's already conspicuous sense of unease. If she could not get near enough to diagnose exactly what was wrong with the headmistress, then she could not begin to try and treat her. Constance took a few deep breaths to calm her rising panic before taking a moment to think over her situation in her usual no-nonsense, logical manner; the continued growling of the cats at the door frame doing nothing to aid her frame of mind.

Constance produced a thermometer from thin air and gently placed it into Amelia's slightly open mouth, letting go before the shock could travel up the device. Finally it registered, leaving Constance in even more doubt as to her course of action: whilst Amelia's skin was definitely burning up, her actual body temperature was far below what it should have been. Constance's heart skipped a beat. The only time she had seen an illness like this was when Maud Moonshine had been poisoned at the end of her second year, but this time Constance knew instinctively that this was not poison, and she would not be able to produce an antidote to save her like she had done for Maud. She was at a complete loss for what to do. She removed the thermometer quickly, feeling the dull ache from being on the receiving end of too many sparks beginning to creep up her arm, causing her fingers to spasm into claws. She clenched her fist a few times to try and regain the movement and pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead, completely at a loss. The Devil had engineered this, she was sure, and now she was cursing herself for not taking the opportunity to open up to Amelia earlier in the day. Perhaps, if she had done so, they would not be in this position now, they would have found a way around his nefarious plans. If only she knew his game. She was the object, of that she was absolutely certain: the hateful letter had said as much. But Constance knew that the Devil could never be predicted, never be trusted. His whole existence was an enigma. He was an agent of anarchy, chaos embodied. If they could fathom the way his mind worked then they would be no better than he was, all demons in themselves. Constance looked out into the night sky, the full moon staring back at her through the open window, so calm and sure. For the first time since childhood, Constance found herself praying. She couldn't cope with this alone. She needed someone, but her first point of call, the first person that she would always run to for assistance was the witch whose wellbeing now lay firmly in her hands.

XXX

In all the years that Davina had taught alongside Constance at Cackle's, she had never seen the younger witch panic. Even in the height of trauma, even when the castle was falling down around their ears, even when they were in the depths of hell. She had seen her stressed, and frustrated, and she had definitely seen her terrified beyond belief, but she had never seen the stoical deputy-head panic to the point of incoherence. When she had wrenched open the staffroom cupboard doors and half-dragged Davina out of her cosy slumber in among the stationery, the chanting teacher thought for a moment that her superior had been possessed.

"Constance, what on Earth is the matter?" she asked groggily as she ran down the corridors, struggling to keep pace with the taller witch's strides. "What's happening? Couldn't it wait till morning?"

"Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying?" Constance hissed, the low tone managing to convey her frustration better than a scream that would have woken the whole school could have done. She stopped dead in her tracks, and Davina could see the chaotic panic in her eyes. She was suddenly not only awake and alert, but also very scared. If whatever it was could drive the enduring Constance into such a state, then it was something bad. What was it that Amelia had said at the meeting before they had been interrupted by the fourth-years and Fenny and Griz? Something beyond their control...

"Amelia is ill," continued Constance, and if Davina didn't know better, she would have said that the deputy was fighting tears. Her brown eyes were already red-rimmed from earlier crying, and Davina felt that this was not the best time to inquire as to the cause. They had been tiptoeing round Constance ever since her unexpected departure from the staffroom earlier that day. "She's ill and there's nothing I can do to help her, Davina."

By this time they had reached the headmistress's room and both women ventured inside. Davina was frozen into shock by the sight of her oldest friend in such a terrible state.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked, choked.

"I don't know for certain," said Constance weakly. "Symptoms of poisoning, but it isn't... Davina..."

"What, Constance?" Davina did not like the unsaid implication heavy in the younger witch's words.

"The Devil is behind it."

"What?" Davina refused to believe what she was hearing. True, Amelia's words at the meeting had pointed her thoughts in that direction, but she had firmly drawn herself away, not wanting to get pulled into that downward spiral of fear and worry, concentrating instead on trying to remember the middle-eight of a particularly difficult chant that she'd dreamed up the evening before. To have the demonic intervention put into plain words was too much for her to comprehend.

"The Devil..." Constance sighed, and Davina could see the effort it was taking her to confide in her. "The letter I received this morning... It warned me that something would happen. I just never dreamed it would be... I thought it would be me who suffered, and I was prepared for that. But this is Amelia, and I just don't know what to do."

Davina could not give a reply, and didn't even try to. She advanced across the room with baited breath and reached out to touch her, Constance's warning coming too late. She withdrew her hand immediately, massaging her fingertips.

"This isn't right," she said. "How can we hope to help her when we can't get near her?"

"I don't know!" exclaimed Constance, abandoning all attempts to be quiet for the good of the sleeping students in her raw fear. The two witches heard movement above them and Constance rested her forehead in her hands with a groan. Davina gulped, the prospect of losing Constance's stern, sensible, logical methodology truly terrifying her. Davina did not want to have to take charge, she knew she simply would not cope. Whilst she had often argued with Amelia over having more influence within the school, she knew that if she had as much power and responsibility as Constance, her delicate sensibility would send her into a nervous breakdown.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" said Constance, her no-nonsense manner seeming to return to her after a moment of weakness, moving over to Amelia's bedside and preparing to cast a spell with some medicinal effect. As she did so however, the sparks that Amelia's body was giving out as a natural defence struck out with even more ferocity than before, catching Constance's fingers as she tried to cast, forcing the effects of the spell away from their intended target. Davina watched in horror as Constance panted and shook through the pain from the shocks, trying to keep up a connection in the vain hope that some relieving effect might come of her attempts. As she did so however, Davina noticed something else. Amelia's pallor was growing ever more sickly, as if fighting off Constance's magic was physically draining her, even though the deputy's spells were not a vicious attack.

"Stop!" she cried. "Constance, stop, it's hurting her as much as it's hurting you! It's the magic!"

Constance immediately broke the connection, her knees buckling beneath her as she crumpled into an ungainly heap on the floor, her breath heaving.

"What did you say Davina?" she asked between gasps.

"It's the magic," said Davina, remembering her own magical studies as a girl, so long ago now that she could barely recollect what she had been taught. "Witches have a natural defence, if all else fails, they can still defend themselves against magic if needs be."

Constance looked down at her casting fingers and up at Amelia.

"So we can't help her because we're magical?" she asked weakly. "I knew about the final defence... I never realised it was due to our magic..."

"Yes..." Davina began, but she broke off on seeing Constance's eyelids flutter as her breath hitched and she hit the ground in a faint, the pain and stress of the past few seconds of casting finally getting the better of her.

Davina had never felt so alone in her life. A small, frightened squeak escaped her lips as she fell to her knees between the bed and the fallen deputy, looking from one incapacitated witch to the other. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn't handle this situation, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to escape into the safety of her stationery cupboard in the staffroom, away from all the ills and evils of the world, where she could pretend that it was all a bad dream until Imogen woke her up with a bowl of fruit salad and double cream. But Imogen was not there, and as the only remaining member of senior staff, Davina knew that the management of the school was in her shaking hands. She noticed how much her fingers were trembling and sat on them, hoping that might stop the shivers, and that in turn would give her the confidence to pull through this. She could do it. She could do it. If she told herself enough times, surely that would work... Davina shook her head. She was out of her depth completely, and if Constance had no idea what she should do, then Davina knew she didn't have a hope.

She was pulled out of this self-destructive circle of thoughts by the softest of knocks at the door. Ice shot down Davina's spine and she pulled herself to her feet. Better to face whatever it was standing, lest it be an evil force come to finish the job it had started... Two teachers down and one to go... Davina called out in a quavering voice.

"Who's there?"

"It's Mildred. May I come in?"

Relief flooded through Davina's veins as she crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Mildred's wonderfully familiar face.

"Miss Bat," she said, her eyes worried but with the slightest hint of what Davina divined to be triumph. "I've had an idea."

* * *

**Note2: **Stay tuned to find out what that idea is!


	11. Chapter 11

**Note: **Happy 21st of February people! *Frantically searches for something of significance to link to the date... gives up.* Not much to say really, other than enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Eleven**

Mildred readjusted the grip of her fingers around her broom as she flew towards the town in the rising dawn, still reeling from the events of the night, her destination still a good half-hour away even with the dangerous speeds she was doing. She had been woken at about half-past midnight by an exasperated cry directly below her that she had, in due course, recognised as belonging to Miss Hardbroom. She had crept down the corridors to the source of the sound, and listening at the door of Miss Cackle's bedroom, she had discovered the terrible situation that the teachers had found themselves in. Standing in the room with a desperately ill Miss Cackle, a passed-out Miss Hardbroom and a panicking Miss Bat, Mildred had found it hard not to give in to the hysteria of her surroundings herself, but she knew that her sudden idea might be the only chance they had.

Miss Cackle's condition was such that a witch could not help her. But Mildred knew a woman who was not a witch, who had no magic that could affect the delicate status quo, and whose extensive knowledge of the occult might be of use in finding a cure for an illness caused by the Devil himself. She was currently on her way to Spinder's, back to the place where she had been happily reunited with Fenny and Griz less than twenty-four hours previously, back to the place where this awful predicament had first started with Della's translation. Mildred only prayed that the terrible letter had not put Della off the company of magicians, and that she would be willing to lend her non-magical assistance to care for the headmistress.

Mildred patted down her cloak pocket, feeling the newly acquired magical implement residing in there weighing heavy. Once Miss Hardbroom had come round after a few minutes of Mildred's frantic explanation to Miss Bat, she had taken charge of the situation again in her usual manner, if weakened slightly from her prone position, Miss Bat refusing to allow her to get up and on her feet again so soon after fainting. Once she had fought away the chanting teacher's ministrations, she had agreed with Mildred's plan to fetch Della, and she had given her a seemingly ordinary compact mirror. Seemingly ordinary, for whilst it appeared to be a perfectly harmless object on the outside, when she ran her fingers over it, Mildred could detect the faintest of blue shimmers streaking across the glass beneath her touch. It was a magic mirror, a device linked onto a network of similarly enchanted looking-glasses and used for communication with witches all around the country, and indeed the world. Miss Hardbroom had told her to use it to keep in touch with the school via her own glass, the fabled magic mirror that Ruby, Fenny and Griz had taken from the staffroom in their third year to use in an ill-fated time machine. No-one in the school actually knew what the device was for, which was possibly why the machine had gone so badly wrong in the first place, nefarious intervention on the part of their then-rivals notwithstanding.

Mildred, however, had since been let in on one of the more intriguing, and more secret, aspects of witchcraft in that respect, and in receiving the magical compact from Miss Hardbroom had felt a strange sense of initiation, as if she had earned her right to magical communication. Ruby would have called it a magical mobile phone, and Mildred smiled to herself on thinking of Miss Hardbroom's probable reaction to hearing 'such a hallowed and essential piece of sorcery' called such.

Mildred's reasons for going to Della were more than simply employing her as a nurse in her non-magical capacity; as she had explained to the teachers, she thought Della's field of expertise might be able to help them. She had not, however, elaborated on exactly how her specialist subject could assist, because she wasn't even sure herself. It was only a passing thought, after a seemingly throwaway line in a book, and her own ideas in putting the pieces of the bigger picture together. Whilst looking up the legend of Pandora's Box in the hope of drawing some parallels, however shaky, with the mysterious Void, Mildred had come across a hand-written line scrawled in spiky, near-illegible hand at the bottom of a page.

_The Legendarae holds the key to Pandora's Box._

It was incomprehensible on its own, and Mildred had at first dismissed it as the personal notes of a former pupil who had been researching the myth, but her mind had kept coming back to the line. The Legendarae, Fenny had said, was a famous book in witchcraft circles, very few copies surviving and most of them in extremely poor condition. Like the book in which they had found the detailed account of Pandora's Box, it was merely a collection of classical mythology, its heightened fame coming from its depth and quality of expression, which was near legendary in its own right. It was also the only magician-produced book that was referred to by non-magicians on any semblance of a regular basis. If any non-magician was going to have a copy of this fabled book in her possession, then it was going to be Della Spinder.

A particularly chill gust of wind caught Mildred mid-flight and she shivered, thinking of the terrible situation that she had left behind her at the castle. Most of the students wouldn't be awake yet; they wouldn't know the calamity that had befallen their beloved headmistress in the middle of the night until later, when Miss Hardbroom would announce that classes had once again been cancelled after their unexpected free time yesterday in the wake of the emergency staff meeting that Mildred and the others had so fatefully interrupted. She wondered what they would think, how they would react, whether any of them would be astute enough to link it back to the events of the previous November. Mildred touched down, firmly putting the thoughts to the back of her mind and hurrying along the empty streets towards Spinder's. Almost before she saw the locked door and the dimmed lights within the small basement shop, she knew that she would not find her friend in her usual haven. It was quarter to seven on a Friday morning. The shops were not open. Della would still be at home in bed. Mildred sighed, completely clueless as to what her next course of action should be. She had no idea where Della lived. They had only ever known her to exist within the boundaries of her shop and the little back room where they retired for tea and cake.

She stared in despair at the elegantly curled writing on the 'closed' sign, before something caught the corner of her eye. _In case of emergency, _a small note at the bottom of the sign read _fire, flooding, etc, call Della 24/7 on this number. _Mildred looked to the ever-lightening sky and thanked whoever it was up there who had thrown her this lifeline. She ran back up the steps back to the street and across the road to the phone-box on the corner, once again lamenting the total ban on technology within Cackle's walls. She could hardly use a compact mirror to ring her distinctly non-magical friend. It was only once she was inside the booth that she realised she had no coins on her to make a call with. Sighing, she dialled the number to reverse the charges and crossed her fingers, praying that Della would accept the call.

Finally, the tinny operator's voice told her that she was being connected, and after what seemed like an age of desperate silence on the other end of the phone, Della's bleary tones came down the line.

"Mildred, what in the name of... Just what is going on? Have you any idea what time it is? I'm assuming there's some kind of emergency."

She stopped, obviously waiting patiently for Mildred to explain the situation.

"Della, we need you. It's Miss Cackle, she's ill, but whatever it is that she's got, witches can't go near her."

The silence on the end of the phone was all-encompassing.

"And you need me because I'm not a witch," said Della eventually.

"Yes," said Mildred, crossing her fingers even tighter.

Della sighed down the phone, the sound deafening in Mildred's ears.

"I don't really have much choice, do I? I can't exactly refuse. You'd better come over, tell me about it. I don't mean to be rude but I am being charged a fortune for this call and I'm not sure I'm awake enough to understand anything you're saying just yet."

Della quickly gave directions to her flat and was standing on the doorstep in her dressing gown with a mug of coffee in her hands when Mildred flew up the steps and into the building. Della lived on the ground floor of a townhouse not dissimilar to the one which housed her shop in the basement, and it was just as untidy and full of books.

"Now," said Della, handing Mildred the mug and guiding her through the boxes and suitcases to the kitchen. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to get dressed. Take a minute just to think clearly."

Della disappeared out of the room and Mildred took a sip of her coffee, looking around at the various implements and nick-nacks left lying around, carefully formulating her words. Moments later, Della reappeared, business-like in a white shirt and jeans.

"Miss Cackle is ill," said Mildred, launching into her full explanation without being invited. "She fell ill during the night. There's nothing we can do to help her, because her natural defence has kicked in."

"Her what?" Della was now making herself a piece of toast, and spreading it with a layer of marmalade almost thicker than the bread.

"Her natural defence..." Mildred wasn't sure how to describe it. "Witches have a natural defence that doesn't require any spells or potions to activate; in times of crisis they'll always have this ability – it produces sparks and static to ward off other magicians. When a witch is so weak she's..." Mildred did not want to give voice to the thought 'on the point of death'. She hastily rephrased. "When she's extremely weak, the defence kicks in automatically."

"And no magician can go near her," Della finished. "So you need someone with no inherent magic to come and look after her. Namely me."

Mildred nodded.

"Well, I don't doubt that there's no time to lose," said Della, picking up her handbag from the kitchen table and cramming the rest of the toast in her mouth.

"Wait, Della, there's something else." Mildred took a deep breath. "Do you have a copy of the Legendarae?"

Della stood stock still.

"Why?" she asked, her voice slightly strangled, although Mildred couldn't tell whether that was simply due to the toast.

"We think... I think, it might have something to do with the Void," she said. "Remember, from the letter yesterday."

Della had gone very pale.

"I do have a copy of the Legendarae," she said quietly. "Ironically, it came in just after you left. That customer... He brought it in. A selection of classical tales in classical Latin. Including the tale of Pandora's Box."

Mildred nodded eagerly. She had known that Della of all people would have a Legendarae, but the obvious unease that Della was feeling because of it had set her mind on edge.

"It's at the shop," said Della. "Come on. We'll go and get it and then go back to the castle. I'll need to write a note for the door anyway."

The run back to the shop seem to take forever, much longer than the opposite journey had done, despite the fact that Mildred knew where she was going this time. Della flew down the steps and unlocked the door, running into the shop without bothering to switch on the lights and hastily scribbling a note that she paperclipped over the closed sign. _Closed until further notice due to unforeseen circumstances. Sorry for any inconvenience, Della. _She scooted a box across the floor with her foot and stood on it to access a high shelf. Mildred wondered how she ever managed to find anything in the cramped space, but there was evidently some logic within the chaos.

Just as Della pulled out an old, green book, Mildred had a terrible thought. What had the note in the book said? _The Legendarae holds the key to Pandora's Box._ What if that was meant literally? What if the book was the box? What if opening it would open up a path to the Void?

"Here we are," said Della, stepping backwards off the box and sliding her finger down the edge of the closed pages.

"No!" cried Mildred, running forward. "Don't open it!"

But it was too late. Della's fingernail had slipped between two leaves of the book and slowly flipped it open in her hands...

* * *

**Note2: **Dun dun dun! Stay tuned! In the meantime... *Having mislaid her pointy stick, Kimmeth attaches NCD's Boom to her broom handle and waves it at the 'review' button.*


	12. Chapter 12

**Note: **And the cliffhanger is revealed... Enjoy, people, enjoy! Kimmeth has had a bad day but it is being made up for with the fact she is having Dominos pizza later and she finally, finally remembered why she needed to look up 'My Family and Other Animals' on Youtube. And was most pleased when she found it. It's a very long story, involving one of the most violent non-horror films of the decade and a guy from my university town...

Gah, shut up Kimmeth. The readers don't want to hear about your day, they want the chapter!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twelve**

Della dropped the open book onto the desk as if she had been stung, taking a step back and staring at the pages, her eyes wild.

"That's not right," she said, pointing at the book. "It was not like that yesterday; I'll swear to God, it did not look like that yesterday."

Mildred advanced cautiously towards the book, confident that if anything extremely catastrophic relating to the Void was going to happen, then it would have done so by now, but still very scared by Della's reaction to the opened pages. Once she saw what was on them, she felt Della's shock perfectly justified.

It was almost as if the book was alive. The pages were covered in minute writing and diagrams, and the words were moving over the paper, some marching like ants, others seeming to slide along, the ink bleeding in and out of the page as they moved. Sometimes the phrases would change their forms, sometimes they stayed put. Others would flick back and forth between different spellings. It was something otherworldly, and Mildred could state categorically that she had never seen anything like it before in her entire magical education. If the key to Pandora's Box, and conversely the key to the Void, lay within these living, ever-changing pages, then they would have to spend days deciphering them, if they could even be deciphered at all. The words had no sense of logic to them at all. Were they spells? Verses? Enchantments? Potion ingredients? The sheer feeling of magic surrounding the book was almost unfathomable, and Mildred knew instinctively that it was not the kind of magic that was taught and encouraged at Cackle's. Whilst there was never a physical distinction drawn between 'black' and 'white' magic, it was generally accepted that some spells were created with solely evil intentions in mind, and it was obvious to Mildred that this was the type of magic that the Legendarae was steeped in.

"It was not like that yesterday," Della repeated, but the fierce tone of disbelief had vanished from her voice, and she came over to stand beside Mildred as the younger witch turned the pages, each one revealing the same mysterious script as the last. Her eyes caught a tiny but meticulously detailed diagram showing a grinning horned Devil, the smoke surrounding him seeming to move and waft across the page, and she snapped the book shut instinctively, fear overcoming her rational reactions. "When I saw it, it was just pages upon pages of Latin. But having said that..." Della paused, lost in thought for a few seconds. "There was a kind of shimmer over the pages, I couldn't read them properly."

"A standard concealment spell," said Mildred, her voice shaking slightly, still affected by what she had just seen. "You can make anything look like anything else, the perfect disguise, but there's always a telltale shimmer; you know it's not real." She looked up at Della. "The customer who brought in this book... Did you recognise him?"

"No," said Della, a little too quickly for Mildred's liking. "I'd never seen him before in my life."

It took Mildred a little while to decipher the strange stress that Della had put on her sentence. '_I'd _never seen him before in my life'. Did that mean that someone else had? Was he known to the school? Mildred couldn't think of any wizards that she would know that Della wouldn't, and if she'd never seen him before, how would Della know who else knew him? She shook her head, pushing the questions to the back of her mind for the time being. She had come on a mission to get Della and bring her back to the castle to try and help Miss Cackle, so that was what she was about to do.

"Come on," she said. "Bring the book. We'll think about it later."

Della gave her a questioning look before shrugging and picking up the book gingerly, as if she was afraid to touch it lest it release some of its undoubtedly powerful magic, and slipping it into her bag. Mildred led the way out of the shop, barely waiting for Della to lock up behind them. They were half-way down the street towards the alley where Mildred had stowed her broom when Della stopped.

"This means broomstick travel, doesn't it?" she said ominously. Mildred nodded apologetically and Della shook her head. "I am never travelling by broomstick again."

Mildred remembered Della's first experience of a witch's traditional mode of transport, less than favourable as it was. She sighed, both understanding Della's reluctance and needing them to get a move on. If Della wouldn't go with her on the broom, then what other way was there for her to get to the castle? Mildred shoved her hands deep into her pockets and encountered cold metal, pulling out the compact mirror. She had forgotten she had it. Inspiration struck, and Mildred opened the mirror, praying that she had remembered how to use it correctly. She blew on the glass, completely steaming up a patch, and writing a name in it with the very tip of her finger. After a few seconds, the fog faded and Miss Hardbroom's face appeared in the mirror. Behind her, Mildred could just make out the familiar decor of the staffroom.

"What is it, Mildred?" she asked.

"I don't suppose that you could, erm..." Now that Mildred actually had to make her request, she wasn't convinced that it was as good an idea as she had first thought.

"Spit it out, Mildred," snapped Miss Hardbroom. "Did you find Della?"

"Oh yes," said Mildred, "she's here. I was just wondering if, perhaps, you could come and get her?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Mildred had been at Cackle's for four years; she had been working closely with the senior staff for the past two terms, and yet Miss Hardbroom's voice still had the capacity to chill her to her very bones.

"Well, Della has a bit of a problem with flying," she began, her words falling over themselves as she tried to explain.

"Ah. I see."

Nothing more was said, and Mildred found herself looking at her own reflection in the compact. She didn't know whether the deputy-head was on her way or whether she had to try and convince Della that getting on the back of her parcel-taped broom was safer than it looked. It was her companion who broke the fraught silence.

"What does the Legendarae have to do with the Void?" she asked, looking down at her handbag with the book stowed inside as if it was going to bite her.

"I don't know," sighed Mildred. "It was only a hunch. We came to the conclusion that the Void and Pandora's Box are parallels, and I found a mention of the Legendarae when I was looking for information on Pandora. The Legendarae holds the key to Pandora's Box."

There was a long silence whilst Della stood perfectly still her eyes fixed upon her handbag before slowly reaching inside and pulled out the book. Mildred watched her take a visibly deep breath before opening it at the end, presumably to what semblance of an index the book held. The writing was still swimming haphazardly over the pages, but it seemed to have slowed, calmed slightly. Della touched the parchment briefly, pulling her hand away almost immediately on instinct before taking another deep breath and placing her palm on the page, letting her little finger travel along the paper with the ever shifting words.

"It's in the same pig Latin as the letter," she said, after focussing on the letters for a while. "But then," she added darkly under her breath, and Mildred wasn't sure if she had been meant to hear or not, "that's hardly surprising, really."

She flipped a few pages back, her reluctance to have any contact with the book showing in her furrowed brow and quick, jerky movements. Mildred heard her breath catch as she skimmed over some of the ever-moving words and saw her eyes widen, but before she could ask the fated question of what she had read, there was the faintest of shimmering sounds, and Miss Hardbroom appeared in the dark alley beside them. Whilst Mildred had noticed that she had been looking increasingly tired in recent weeks, she thought she could detect a definite hint of despair surrounding her form-mistress this morning.

"Good morning Della," she said quietly. "Thank you for agreeing to do this. We are much indebted to you." She turned to Mildred. "I trust that you will have no problems with flying?"

Mildred shook her head, taking this as her cue to leave, and mounted her broom as Della gave a sheepish smile. She concentrated on the sky as she lifted off, and when she glanced back at the ground, she saw that both of the older women had vanished.

The journey back to the castle passed in a flash, Mildred's mind occupying the time by going through the events of the day so far, as young as it was. Her mind kept coming back to Della's shocked little gasp as she looked at the book, and something akin to dread began to make itself known, niggling at the edges of her thoughts, a persistent worry. As soon as she touched down in the courtyard, she ran into the school in search of her non-magical friend, knowing that she would have arrived a good forty minutes previous. Her first thought was the staffroom, but that was occupied solely by Miss Bat in her easy chair, dozing lightly over her knitting. It took her a few moments to realise where Della would be found, and Mildred remembered with an ironic smile that she had been awake since about half-past midnight, and could therefore be excused for not thinking straight. She made her way cautiously along the corridors, conscious of the fact that the rest of the castle was still asleep, until she found herself outside Miss Cackle's door. She knocked softly and Della's voice invited her in.

If Della had not been a bookshop proprietor, thought Mildred, she would have made an excellent nurse. She seemed oddly calm as she sat beside the stricken headmistress, gently sponging her brow with a damp flannel.

"Stay there," she said quietly. "Don't want to upset a delicate balance." She dried her hands and came over to Mildred, standing beside her at the door. "She's a little better than when I got here, but only fractionally."

Mildred gazed at Miss Cackle, wondering just how old and frail she looked. Mildred knew that the headmistress was not young in years, but she had always seemed such a constant, integral part of the school that the thought of losing her had never crossed her mind once in her four years at Cackle's. The notion of the school bereft of its kind, sensible leader and guiding hand was completely unthinkable. Mildred's brain simply couldn't cope with such a possibility. Della seemed to know what she was thinking.

"I'll take care of her Mil, don't worry." She smiled. "We'll get her through it."

Mildred swallowed the lump of worry in her throat and gave voice to the question that had been plaguing her for the entire flight home from the town.

"Della... The book, when you were reading it, waiting for Miss Hardbroom... What did it say?"

"Nothing," said Della, refusing to meet Mildred's eye and taking up her vigil once more.

"Della, I saw your reaction." Mildred's voice was pleading, and Della sighed, staring down at her hands on her knees before looking up.

"I think Miss Hardbroom is in a better position than me to tell you," she said finally. "After all, she actually has half a clue what she's talking about from a magical perspective. "All I know is from the mythological point of view. I can tell you everything you want to know about Pandora's Box, and Miss Hardbroom will tell you everything you want to know about the Void." She paused. "The Legendarae confirmed the link between the two."

Mildred stopped in the doorway, unsure whether she should feel relieved that they knew what they were up against at long last, or fearful for the exact same reason.

"Miss Hardbroom's called the wizards," said Della. "She sent them a magical SOS as soon as we got back. They should be arriving any time now."

Sure enough, as if on cue, Mildred heard the main doors open and low voices whispering through the corridors of the school. She turned to leave before looking over her shoulder, torn between staying with Della, offering her unspoken support for her fragile headmistress, or going to discover the true status quo.

"Go," encouraged Della. "She's expecting you there anyway. I am in more of a position to take care of Amelia than you, and you are in more of a position to fight this mysterious Void than me. Best stick to our strengths, eh?"

Mildred nodded, wanting to say something but not knowing what would be appropriate in the circumstances. Goodbye? Good luck? I'll be back soon? She settled for a weak smile in place of any words that wouldn't quite fit the situation, and closed the door behind her with a gentle click as she left, wondering if Miss Cackle would be any recovered if and when she returned.

* * *

**Note: **Well, my pizza still hasn't arrived. *Kimmeth gives a mournful cry of 'I'm hungry!'*. But I hope you enjoyed it, and remember, reviews are just as nourishing as pizza! *Hint.*


	13. Chapter 13

**Note: **Thank you as always to the reviewers! Here is chapter thirteen... In which we discover what the mysterious Void actually IS...

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Thirteen**

Egbert Hellibore did not like to be on the receiving end of an emergency message at the best of times, but an emergency message from Constance Hardbroom was something to make him quiver in his very boots at the prospect of making the journey from Camelot to Cackle's. Not only was he reminded of the last time that he had been summoned to give urgent assistance at the establishment, he also knew that Constance was one of the most accomplished magicians of her generation, and if she couldn't handle something, he dreaded to think what terrible atrocity Cackle's might be facing.

Hurrying down the now familiar corridors towards the staffroom, Egbert remembered the last time that he and Algernon had sat in that cramped room. Those few days had been full of such mixed emotions: anger, fear, and eventual triumph. For Egbert, the most prevailing memory was of Della. The daughter he had known about but never been able to get close to had walked into his life, almost by accident, completely unaware of his identity. Less than forty-eight hours later, he believed he had lost her forever after she had surrendered her magic, prepared to die to save the rest of them from the ninth circle.

All those months had passed, so much had happened in between, but all the good times, all the happy days had seemed to blur together when he received the message from Constance. He was back in the ninth circle as soon as the emergency spell had found him, an enchanted envelope flying through his office window, and as soon as he opened it, the formidable witch's voice had rung out. She had been brusque, clipped, telling him the bare facts in her usual no-nonsense manner, but there was something else in her tones that Egbert had picked up on immediately. He thought, beneath the stark words, he could detect genuine, unbridled fear, and it had chilled him to the bone. Seconds after her message had finished, he had heard the shimmer of someone transporting themselves outside the door, and a worried Algernon had entered after a small pre-emptory knock. It had only taken a few briefly-exchanged words to establish that he too had received the message, and they had left for the Academy together immediately.

It was Davina who had met them at the door and was currently conducting them down the passageways to the staffroom, something that was odd in itself. Normally Amelia would greet all her visitors at the gate, welcoming and maintaining proper decorum even in emergencies. Davina was explaining something in her high, sing-song tones, her voice trembling with unidentifiable emotion so much that it was impossible to make out her tremulous words. She opened the staffroom door and Egbert was surprised to find only two other occupants therein. Mildred Hubble was sitting in the place usually occupied by Imogen Drill, and Constance was in her usual seat at one end of the table. Amelia's position was ominously empty.

Sensing that something was seriously wrong, Egbert and Algernon quickly took the vacant chairs without a word, tactfully avoiding Amelia's customary seat. Once everyone was settled, Constance began, her voice low and heavily checked.

"As you are aware, there is a terrible situation unfolding in Cackle's as we speak." She paused with a sigh. "Amelia is gravely ill, and there is only one explanation."

Egbert's blood froze as he realised what the one explanation was, snapshot memories of November flashing in front of his eyes as he continued to listen in horror to Constance's explanation.

"It's the Devil," she concluded. "He has returned, by some means as yet unknown, and he has opened the Void."

Egbert closed his eyes. Of everything that could have happened, every worst case scenario that he could possibly have prepared himself for, the Void was not one of them. To be told that it truly existed was a staggering blow in itself. To be told that it had been opened was something entirely different. This was a foe that he truly knew nothing about, the Void being a forbidden turn of phrase for so long in magical circles. He didn't know precisely what it could do, nor how it could be stopped, and he didn't know how he could ask a witch ostensibly far less experienced in years than himself to enlighten him. Thankfully, Mildred and Algernon saved him the trouble.

"What _is_ the Void?" they asked in a perfect, if unintentional, unison.

Constance took a deep breath, seeming to buoy herself up before launching into a description that only someone of her magical calibre could produce.

"Every time a witch or wizard casts a spell, a certain amount of magical discharge is given off. It is, if you like, a marker of their magical capacity being used up until they no longer have any magic, much like Della used up her magic in the ninth circle last autumn. The Void traps and contains all the magical residue in the world, because if it doesn't, if the spent magic is allowed to roam free, then chaos would reign supreme. The Foster's Effect is caused by many things, but sometimes it is caused when there is too much magical discharge in the air that the Void has not had chance to absorb. This is usually the cause of the more cataclysmic Foster's events."

There was silence, everyone thinking the same thing. If the Void had been opened, and all the magical discharge was allowed to roam freely around the Earth, then the Foster's fallout would be unimaginable, worse even than that.

"So the Void is causing Amelia's illness," said Algernon quietly. Constance nodded.

"What can we do?" asked Davina, looking around all the gathered magicians for ideas, but Egbert was as stumped as the rest of them, exchanging worried expressions with Algernon and Mildred. Constance was holding her head in her hands, and she did not look up as she addressed them once more.

"There is only one thing we can do," she said. "Or rather, there is only one thing that I can do." She straightened, and Egbert could see the overwhelming fear in her wide eyes. "I should probably impart to you that the ninth circle was not the first time that I have had... discourse with the Devil." She pulled out a letter written in silver ink on black paper, in a language completely incomprehensible to Egbert. "I doubt you'll be able to read this, but suffice it to say, if we are going to find a solution to the terrible circumstances that we find ourselves in, I am going to have to meet him for a third time."

"What?" exclaimed Davina, her expression one of horror. "You can't! Constance, it's not safe!"

"It's the only way, Davina," sighed Constance, although Egbert could hear her own reluctance to follow through on her suggestion hanging heavy in her words. "This is what he wants. He said I would meet him whether I wanted to or not. Since it is more than likely that Amelia's illness has been caused by the opening of the Void, I think this is the event that will force my hand." She paused, and Egbert could almost physically feel her anger at having to betray her fierce pride by giving in to the demands of the demon. "If I meet him, then perhaps he can tell me why he has done this, why he has opened the Void."

Egbert clenched his jaw tightly to prevent him saying anything in haste that he might regret. He had a very good idea as to why the Devil had opened the Void, and why he had predicted Constance's capitulation in meeting him for a third time. He was remembering the events of the ninth circle. He had seen the way the Devil had looked at Constance, appraising more than her magical ability as his eyes had roamed hungrily over her figure. He had seen the way he had grabbed her waist, leaned into her neck almost like a lover. Egbert had the distinct feeling that should Constance go to this rendezvous, she might not return, but whilst he feared for the younger witch's safety, the hardness and determination in her otherwise bleak expression made him halt before opening his mouth to give voice to his opinions. Constance had proven admirably in the past that she was extremely capable of defending herself, hence his fear when he had received her emergency message. He did not want to incur her wrath now, when she was already hanging in a delicate balance having silently assumed Amelia's position at the head of the school in her superior's incapacitation.

"When will you go?" asked Davina, looking down to the knitting on her lap to try and mask the quaver of dejection in her voice.

"The Devil only comes out at night," muttered Constance before looking out of the staffroom window at the mockingly bright, cheery weather outside. "I shall have to wait until dusk. In the meantime, we shall simply have to watch and wait, and hope for the best, for Amelia's sake."

The silence in the room that followed this frank statement was all-encompassing, stifling almost. Mildred muttered her excuses left the room. Davina followed her soon after without a word, her countenance pale and scared. The revelation of the Void and all its awesome, mystical, terrifying power had come as a blow to them all; the scope of the possible consequences was almost unbelievable, but Egbert knew that with magic, nothing was impossible; that the unthinkable and unspeakable happened regularly. It was one of the burdens of their craft, knowing that such unpredictable occurrences were beyond their control. Egbert glanced at Constance, witnessing the first signs of desperation and fatigue ghosting across her face.

"May we see Amelia?" he asked presently, trying to divert his mind away from the foreboding task that Constance had set herself, and sensing that the usually so stoic witch needed some time to herself to prepare for her meeting."Is she able to speak to us?"

Constance shook her head.

"She's in a deep fever, unconscious..." Here Constance seemed to flop, as if she had finally physically admitted defeat, as if nothing else mattered anymore. She rested her elbows on the table, bringing her hands up to her forehead as she stared down at the tablecloth, unwilling to meet Egbert's eyes as she continued, her voice shaking with unshed tears. "Her final defence has kicked in. She's worse than ill, Egbert. She's _dying_."

Egbert knew the final defence, mythical as it was, and he knew that he had to see the damage for himself. How could it be that only the headmistress had been affected, and not the rest of the school? He shrugged his shoulders in answer to his own silent question, and he made to exit the room. Everything he could have said seemed clichéd, inappropriate in the circumstances, so he settled instead for leaving in a respectful silence, slowly making his way down the corridors to the headmistress's room. He knocked, although he did not quite know why he had done so, knowing her to be incapable of responding, and he was surprised when a familiar voice invited him in. He opened the door to see Della sitting by Amelia's bed, her hands folded limply in her lap as she watched over the prostrate witch. Egbert almost had to double-take.

"Della?"

"They called me in to take care of Amelia," she explained quietly. "No magic."

Egbert felt a sudden sense of guilt as he wondered how these events might be affecting his daughter. She had willingly given up her magic down in the ninth circle, willingly given up the majority of her connections with witches and forces beyond her control, but in the end, it had been for nothing. The Devil was returning once more, and this time Della was powerless, defenceless against him.

"I'm sorry," he said, moving forward, but Della held up a hand to prevent him coming any closer to Amelia and possibly causing an adverse reaction.

"It's not your fault," she said. "I don't blame you, or Constance, or Millie, or anyone. I don't even blame myself. Sometimes, life happens."

"The Devil unleashing magical fury upon the world can't really be classed as simply 'life', though."

Della shook her head.

"No. But if I start to analyse any more, then I may well end up in a gibbering heap on the floor. So let me carry on in my own inimitable way."

Egbert nodded. Della was a fighter, his experiences alongside her in the ninth circle proved that much, but she was only human after all. He looked over at Amelia, seemingly so peaceful but the pale, slightly blueish tint to her skin betraying the notion that all was not well.

Egbert prayed that she was a fighter too.

* * *

**Note2:** Well you know what I'm going to say now! *Kimmeth retrieves her pointy stick from behind the fridge (so that's where it went!) and waves it at the review button.*

**Next time:** In which Constance takes a little trip, the Devil is despicable, and Algernon finally proves his mettle... You won't want to miss it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Note: **Ok, this chapter is **a day early** people. That's because I was so desperate to share it with you!

**Note2:** I didn't want to ruin the ending of the chapter with a note, so here's my usual 'please review' note that should come at the bottom. Enjoy, and please review!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Fourteen**

The dusk was just settling in as Constance materialised in the long shadows of a London alleyway, slipping out of the darkness unseen and mixing seamlessly with the early evening bustle – people out to restaurants or the many theatres, or businessmen just coming home from the office. She felt strange without her cloak and hat, half-dressed. It was as if she had forgotten something of vital importance. Whilst the witch's ensemble in itself did nothing to increase her power, it added to the sense of occasion, to the sense of majesty that being in control of such powerful forces of magic brought. In truth, she felt vulnerable without it, accustomed as she was to using her appearance, however unconsciously, as a warning to potential malefactors that she was a powerful sorceress who should not be trifled with. Without her hat and cloak, she felt open to attack from all sides, and whilst Constance knew that she was more than capable of defending herself, the thought still made her shiver involuntarily. She knew where she needed to be, and over the heads of her fellow travellers she could see Tower Bridge in all its glory, the people on it like ants from this distance. Some were moving quickly, using the bridge as just another way of getting from A to B. Others were stopped in small groups, obviously tourists, taking pictures of the view or of the impressive architectural feat itself. She was too far away to see whether her acquaintance was already there or not. One of the reasons why she had chosen to appear so far away from his chosen meeting place was to allow herself time to scout the area, find him before she was face to face, to allow herself some time to prepare, allow herself time to get over her initial reactions of fear and repulsion. She knew already how her body would respond when she saw him; her throat would constrict tightly, and she would feel her heart pounding in her chest as if it was struggling to break free from its confines of bone and sinew. She had never expected to see Tony again, but she had always prepared herself for this moment should it ever have arisen. The nightmares she had suffered just after the incident had told her well enough what the involuntary result of coming across his face again would be.

She had reached the bridge by now, and she had still not been able to find his face amongst the masses. This worried Constance more than the dreaded sight would have done, and she could taste fear at the back of her mouth. She stepped up onto the behemoth structure, walking with her eyes straight ahead until she reached the middle, not daring to look to the left or right. Finally she stopped and made her way across to the railing, looking out over the Thames like she had done on that first night twenty years ago, the night that it had all begun. She had thought the capital so beautiful then, with all its twinkling lights and untold tales of promise. Now it just looked crass to her eyes, gaudy, as if it was selling itself cheap. Constance pondered her viewpoint; had the city changed or had she?

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

A voice to her right made her spin suddenly, and she saw a man standing next to her, leaning on the railing, staring straight ahead over the river. It was not Tony's face, but Constance knew instinctively that the figure who had simply appeared beside her without her knowledge was the demon that she was there to meet. It was the same Devil who had taunted her in the ninth circle all those months ago, the same demon who had grabbed her, knowing how petrified she would be when she felt his arms creep around her, knowing that the memories of that terrible night had not been laid to rest, knowing that she didn't trust males and their wandering hands. It did not look like Tony, but it was him beneath the sheen of magic. She could feel it, in her quickened heartbeat and shaking hands.

Presently, he turned to face her, still leaning nonchalantly on the railing, and his dark brown eyes seemed to glow red momentarily in the reflected lights of the metropolis that surrounded them.

"It's been a long time, Connie," he said, almost nostalgic, like he had truly pined for her during their time apart.

"My name," she said stiffly, fighting to keep control of her tongue and prevent her words from flying out of her head before she could give them utterance, "is Constance."

"You know I never thought much of that as a name for you. Far too straight-laced. But then again..." He broke off to move around her, stepping in far too close as he came up behind her having completed his appraisal. "You are laced rather straight these days, aren't you?" Constance didn't move, and she didn't know if she would be able to do so had she wanted or indeed needed to. His fingers came up to her hair, as close as they could be without actually touching her, and Constance could sense his proximity to her in every inch of her skin, her nerve endings prickling like she had been stung all over. There was nothing she wanted more than to disappear from his presence, but she knew that she could not do that. She was here for Amelia's sake. She had to save her employer, her friend, and if this was what it took, then so be it. She was stronger than this. She wouldn't give in to her primal, if completely rational, fears. "What happened to the beautiful corkscrew curls I used to love so much?" He came back round to the front and searched her eyes for some sort of reaction, but Constance concentrated all her effort on maintaining a neutral facade. She could not let him know how much he repulsed and scared her. She could not give him more ammunition in this way. "You've gone all... schoolmarm-esque." He raised an eyebrow, and this time Constance could not prevent the shiver that took control over her. He sighed, gazing out over the city once more before returning his attention to the witch at his side.

"You really have changed so much," he said, regarding Constance intently. He reached out a hand, as if he was making to cup her face, and she leaned away from the action instinctively. The Devil simply laughed off her reaction, revelling in the power that he held over her, and Constance knew that there was no way back now. Although he had no doubt known about it before, she had just revealed the chink in her armour to him, and he intended to make full use of it. "When I first saw you down in the ninth circle, all the way back in November, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. You couldn't possibly be the pretty little bit I first met all those years ago. But you were. I've never seen power like yours, it is truly unique."

He smiled sadly, eyes glazing over for a brief moment as he thought of what might have been, had the circumstances of their original parting been different in any way.

"Oh Connie, we could have been so good together, you and I." He sighed. "With your power and my... influence. We could have ruled the world." His eyes hardened momentarily, flashing scarlet and dangerous. "But you just wouldn't do as you were told."

Something caught his attention as his eyes roamed hungrily over her slim frame, and he smiled evilly. Constance could feel her heart start pounding even faster in her chest. Surely he wouldn't try anything, not here, not now. They were in a public place, and already attracting more than their fair share of attention from the passers-by thanks to her demonic associate's theatrical mode of address. He made towards her suddenly, closing the distance between them faster than Constance could back up, unwilling as she was to take her eyes off the enemy and glance behind her. Before she could do anything to stop him, a hand darted out, his fingertips melting through the fabric of her dress above her hammering heart. His touch burned her skin to the point of pain, as fleeting as it was before he pulled away, her pentacle pendant resting lightly on his fingers.

"All this time, and you still carry a torch for me." He leered as he yanked the chain, breaking it away and bringing the drop up to the waning light to study it closely. Constance's hand went instinctively to her décolletage, feeling the absence of the metal acutely. "Why else would you keep such a trinket?"

Constance took a deep breath.

"It means nothing to me," she said, unable to mask the shaking in her voice.

"Are you sure?" The Devil swung the pendant back and forth from the broken chain before catching it up in one hand and holding it out over the railing, ready to drop it into the river. He let four or so inches of chain drop, gauging her response, before laughing lightly and stowing it in an inside pocket of his jacket.

"I told you that you would come," he said, changing the subject on a whim. "I said that you would be here, and so you are."

"I did not come of my own volition," said Constance through teeth clenched tightly together to prevent them chattering in fear. "I am here for Amelia."

"Ah yes, of course you are. The evils and illnesses that Pandora's Box unleashed upon the world. The evils and illnesses that the Void unleashed upon the living." He paused. "Your headmistress will be safe. She will have her cure."

Constance knew what was coming next. She had no need to ask. She was bargaining with the Devil. There was always a catch, always a failsafe. He was the Devil. He could not lose.

"But there will, of course, be a small price to pay if one wants the recovery to be permanent, and the Void to be reclosed for any significant length of time..." He breathed deeply, as if he was a businessman conducting an important transaction, the barter of souls being but commerce in his eyes. He was waiting for her to ask, teasing her, playing her along, making her do what he wanted.

"What is the price?" she mouthed, unable to make her constricted throat produce any sound.

"Oh my dear, I thought you were the intelligent one of your sisterhood?" He cocked his head on one side and smiled knowingly. "You, of course."

Constance gasped, although she had known, deep in her heart, that this was the inevitable answer.

"Oh Connie, it will be a pleasure working with you. Even without the aid of the Liaison, you have always been the most adept magician I have ever met. But there again, since I now have the aid of the Liaison, perhaps your power will not prove as attractive as I first thought it would."

Constance felt her knees buckle beneath her, and she grabbed the railing to try and keep herself upright. The full meaning of the Devil's words hit her immediately. That was how he had been able to open the Void. He had absorbed Della's magical discharge; down in the ninth circle whilst her inherent magic expended itself to save them all, the Devil had been drinking in the residue, becoming more powerful than ever before. He had used this weak facsimile of Della's power to bring about a catechism in the Void, forcing it open, and he was going to use the remnants of the magic to control the effects.

"I shall just have to settle for the other benefits of your company instead." His eyes, now undoubtedly scarlet, appraised her form greedily, mentally undressing her. Constance felt helplessly exposed, and longed to straighten and look him in the eye from her full height, but her ears were ringing and her vision was swimming in front of her. It was all she could do to keep herself hanging on to the railing, and she could barely make out his next words. It took her some time to focus on his speech.

"Do we have an agreement?" the Devil asked patiently. "If I relieve your headmistress of her suffering, you will come here again tomorrow evening. I think you know by now the means by which the accordance must be sealed."

Constance closed her eyes. She could say no. She could leave, although she didn't know how she could physically accomplish such a feat, and she could watch Amelia slowly succumbing to her illness and the world slowly succumbing to the monster who stood in front of her, calmly holding out his left hand, a blade flickering almost imperceptibly in his right. Or she could make the agreement, and stand a chance of saving the girls, of saving the entire magical community. She took a deep breath. She had to act for the greater good. Her head still spinning and her breath still coming in uneven, ragged gasps, she held out her free hand to the Devil.

The pain was searing, intense, but only for a moment.

"Tomorrow night," he reminded her, before seeming to blend into the darkness that had since fallen fully over the bridge.

Constance gave in to the blackness threatening the edges of her vision, surrendering to blissfully numb silence...

"Constance? Constance?"

She blinked a few times, and a face swam into view. She didn't like to wonder how long she had been unconscious for, but her limbs were cold and stiff as the face and its attached body helped her to her feet after she had taken the proffered hand. Finally, Algernon's features came into focus, his usually jovial face no longer smiling, his eyes concerned.

"I saw you fall," he admitted. "Davina said someone ought to go after you, to check you were alright. We argued about it all night until I decided to just come, consequences be..." He broke off, evidently going to use 'damned' without thinking. "No matter the consequences," he corrected hastily. "I arrived by the Tower just in time to watch you fall."

Constance could tell from his voice that the experience had shaken him, and she wondered at his ability to keep his words light.

"Come on," he said, guiding her off the bridge. Constance wasn't sure if her legs would be able to carry her if she did not have Algernon to lean on. "Let's get you home."

Constance thought of her home, of Cackle's, of its headmistress, and of what she'd had to do to save it. Algernon handed her a handkerchief without a word as silent tears began to flow down her cheeks, mourning her final defeat in the battle against the spectre of her past.


	15. Chapter 15

**Note: **Ok, we're back to the usual updating schedule now. Hopefully by the end of the week I'll have finished writing all the chapters and I'll be posting every day! At the moment I post every other day whilst I'm still writing the chapters in advance (am up to 24!).

In other news, we are now exactly halfway through! *Pops champagne in honour of the occasion.* Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Fifteen**

Davina hovered outside Amelia's door, still undecided as to whether or not she should knock and enter. On the one hand, she was desperate for someone to talk to about the terrible ordeal that they were currently going through, and she knew that Della was a patient listener who had dealt with several of Davina's 'moments, as she called them, in the past. When Davina had first stumbled across the little basement bookshop in her search for some rare sheet music, she had found Della to be a breath of fresh air, a woman who took Davina at face value and respected her for who she was: a highly-strung, easily-panicked but perfectly capable witch, even though Davina had only revealed her magical capacity many months after their acquaintance had first begun. She had been genuinely glad to find in Della someone with whom she could be herself, and not run the risk of being misunderstood, like she so often did with her colleagues. Della, despite being so much younger, could relate to Davina's love of old music with her own love of antiquated books, often remarking that she would have been at her happiest had she been born two hundred years earlier. Ever since the events of the ninth circle, however, Davina had been wary about imposing on Della's time too much lest she disturb her friend too much with her constant talk of magic. She knew that the girls visited the bookshop regularly when they could, but they were so much more in touch with the real world; they could leave their magical legacy behind them at the castle when they went to see Della, whereas for Davina, magic was such an integral part of her life, and had been for so long, that she found it hard to distance herself from it; set in her ways as she was. It was really no wonder that Della had guessed at her being a witch long before Davina had openly stated it.

Davina's right hand closed over the door handle, her left coming up to rap on the wood with her knuckles, but before she did so she paused, wondering whether it would be best to leave Della, and more importantly Amelia, in peace. Davina had reckoned that as long as she did not get too close to Amelia, then the sparks would not fly, and she would not cause any further pain to the already stricken headmistress, but at the same time, she did not know how much Della would appreciate company whilst acting in her capacity as attending nurse.

"Come in Davina," called Della's voice from behind the door, despite Davina not having moved from her frozen position. The older witch opened the door and stepped inside the cool room, pressing her back against the wood as if she was unconsciously trying to maintain as much distance between herself and the headmistress as possible so as to minimise any possible adverse effects from her magical presence.

"How did you know I was out there?" she asked in disbelief.

"You were humming to yourself," said Della with a smile, looking up from the book in her lap. "You could never be a secret agent Davina, you're far too conspicuous."

Davina laughed weakly, as if to do so would somehow shatter the eerie calm within the room. She looked over at Amelia, her heart leaping to her mouth on seeing just how frail the usually solid and dependable headmistress looked. Davina knew that she herself was not as youthful as she used to be, despite how she may have felt, but she always forgot that Amelia was not getting any younger either. She seemed to be a permanent fixture within the school, and her mortality, so very evident now, was often overlooked, only to have it brought into sharp relief in situations such as these.

"How is she doing?" she asked Della.

"No change," said Della. "But as the doctors always say, sometimes 'no change' is a good thing." There was a pause. "She isn't getting any worse, Davina, you can always cling to that." Della looked out of the window and jumped at the twilight that had seemingly descended without her knowing. She put the book down and came over to feel Amelia's pulse and temperature. Davina stayed gazing out at the ever-darkening sky, wishing she could see the events that were going on elsewhere in the world. Della seemed to catch onto her train of thought, and voiced the very question that Davina was pondering in her head.

"Do you think Constance is ok?"

Davina couldn't answer. It would have been so easy to lie through her teeth, saying that she was sure that a more-than-capable witch like Constance would be perfectly alright, but she could not do so, not with Della, who could read her like one of her beloved books. True, Constance had more inherent power and ability than the entire rest of the school put together, or at least near to it, but the foe she was facing... Not only was it a complete unknown to them: the Devil had not exactly given a full portfolio of his powers during that one brief encounter in the ninth circle, but the horror in Constance's face when she had accepted what she had to do had struck something deep within Davina. For the first time, she believed the formidable deputy-headmistress to be overwhelmingly out of her depth, and Davina was frustrated that there was nothing that they could do to help her. The argument about whether or not they should follow her on her journey might have gone on forever had Algernon not taken matters into his own hands and disappeared after her. Egbert had explained, that since Algernon was gifted, as a wizard, with an ease of teleportation not granted to witches, he had been able to follow Constance's 'trail', the faint line of magic that she left behind her when she dematerialised, in order to determine her destination. Constance had deliberately not told the other adults where she was going, but Egbert knew that she knew about the trail. She knew that she could be found in an emergency if she was needed.

"I don't know, Della. I honestly don't know."

Della sighed.

"So, the Void has been opened." She watched Davina's bemused expression. "Oh, I know all about the Void." She tapped the book she had been reading and Davina could just make out the word _Legendarae_ on the cover. "It's all in here. How do you think Constance knows so much about it?" She gave a snort of wry laughter. "No, that's not true. The first parts that we translated confirmed what she already knew enough to corroborate her theories. Now I'm trying to work out what it all means."

Davina didn't venture to ask the question that was burning on her tongue. If the Legendarae held the key to the Void, did it also explain how one could close it?

Suddenly, the sky outside darkened out of proportion with the oncoming nightfall, casting an indigo hue over the occupants of the room as what little light there was left came through the open window. Once again, the swirling cloudbank above the school had appeared, the churning vapours almost visibly crackling with magic. Davina wished she knew what they meant, but she worked on the principle that as long as the appearance of the clouds was only temporary, as it had been the previous day, then it could not be doing them any terrible harm in the short term, and when so many things were hanging in such a delicate balance – Amelia's health being one of them – Davina was inclined to forget about the ominous future and live firmly in the present. As a fierce wind began to blow into the room, Della hurried across to shut the window, but as soon as she had made her way back to her chair, the room seemed to brighten marginally. Davina shook her head, perturbed by the weather phenomenon but glad that it was once again over. She looked once more at Amelia, furrowing her brow in puzzlement. The headmistress's ghastly pallor seemed to have coloured slightly. She was looking a little healthier than she had done just a few moments before, but Davina couldn't tell if this was merely her eyes adjusting to the different light levels.

"Did you... Do you..." she began, before breaking off, realising how preposterous her idea was going to sound to Della's ears.

"What?" asked Della, leaning forward with curiosity at Davina's evident agitation.

"I thought Amelia looked a little better," she admitted. "I know, it's silly."

Della shrugged. The younger woman was by now too used to the unpredictability of magic to discard any notion or idea that might give one hope, and she once more held out a hand over Amelia's forehead, her own brow furrowing at her observations.

"She's cooled down slightly," she said, moving her fingers to her neck, "and her pulse is more regular. Do you think it's something to do with the clouds?"

Davina inclined her head a little to indicate her tentative agreement, but she was loathe to say for certain. Della stared at her patient firmly for a long while before cautiously beckoning Davina over.

"You know, I think she might be out of the danger zone."

Davina understood the meaning in the cryptic words. Della wanted her to get closer to see if Amelia's defence kicked in. If it didn't, then they could dare to hope. If it didn't, then her condition was most definitely improving. Davina ventured closer and closer, to within touching distance, before she hesitantly reached out a finger to touch the back of Amelia's hand, folded limply on top of the covers. There was no reaction, no static, no sparks. Della and Davina looked at each other, a smile of sheer amazement spreading over the former's face before she turned away and looked out of the window at the almost-set sun.

"Thank you Constance," Davina heard her whisper, barely above a breath. "I don't know what you did, but thank you."

She was cut off by a long yawn before she could speak again, and Davina took pity on her younger friend. She had been by Amelia's bedside since the early morning, and had not moved throughout the day except when necessary, taking the best possible care of her charge as she could with what little medical knowledge that she had gleaned from her extensive reading.

"Go home, Della," said Davina, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You've done more than enough today. I'll sit with her now that I know I won't hurt her even more by being here."

Della nodded gratefully, but before she could open her mouth to say anything, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Egbert entered on Della's invitation, and his first observation was that Amelia looked better.

"The defence has stopped," said Davina simply. Those were the only words that needed to be said, their positive connotations explaining everything else. The expression of relief that formed in Egbert's features was indescribable, and his face crinkled into a smile when he saw Della's feeble attempt to hide another yawn. Now that the adrenaline that had carried her through the day was no longer rushing in the wake of Amelia's improvement, she was flagging fast.

"Would you like me to escort you home, Della?" he asked gently. Della nodded before saying her goodbyes to Davina, and making her promise to pass on her thanks to Constance when she returned. They left the room together, leaving Davina alone to think about Della's words. Despite it all, there was the very real possibility that Constance might not return to receive her young friend's gratitude. Davina settled herself in Della's vacated seat, and began counting down the seconds in time with the ominous ticking of the old-fashioned alarm clock on Amelia's bedside table. She had lost count and started again at least seven times before she heard movement below her in the staffroom, the sound of chairs scraping, feet pattering, worried voices and, most chillingly, sobbing. Choked, spluttering sobbing that Davina had heard only once before and that sent shivers down her spine. Two nights ago, when they had traced the magical disturbance to Constance's room and she had first heard the deputy cry out in anguish, Davina knew that she would recognise the chilling sound forever more, and she had just recognised it once more.

She looked over at Amelia, helplessly torn between two members of staff. Desperate as she was to remain with Amelia, Davina knew that she would never forgive herself if she did not go to Constance's aid when she so obviously required it.

She was saved from her dilemma by the faint sound of the shimmer that accompanied materialisation, and Constance's appearance in the room, tears pouring down her face. Her whole body seemed to sag slightly in relief on seeing Amelia's improved state of health before she crumpled completely, seeming to lose the ability to stand upright as she fell gracefully to her knees, head in her hands.

"Oh Davina," she murmured through her tears. "What am I going to do?"

It was then, with a chilling jolt, that Davina noticed the bandage on Constance's right hand. It was then that she realised what Constance had had to do to secure Amelia's health.

"Constance..." she began.

"I have to go back to him," she continued, cutting Davina off. "I have to see him again." She finally met Davina's eyes, and the sheer terror in her face made Davina's heart ache almost as much as her next words.

"I'm scared, Davina," said Constance simply.

* * *

**Note: ***Kimmeth silently points to the review button.*


	16. Chapter 16

**Note: ***Kim goes slightly crazy due to the pins and needles she has just got from sitting on her foot.* Please enjoy this latest offering, please review, please look out for my lovely hidden reference to Kate Duchêne's repetoire and also please note that from now on there will be **daily updates!**

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Sixteen**

Della traced her fingers over the ever-moving pages of the Legendarae, her attempts at translating once again proving that such a task was nigh on impossible. Whilst she had overcome her initial fear and repulsion of the book, she could not say that she was completely at ease whilst looking at it, its demonic diagrams and inscriptions too lifelike, too chilling.

She was glad that Amelia was getting better, but that did not stop her feeling fear. The battle was far from won. It was, in truth, only just beginning. The Void had been opened and the magical discharge released, but who knew how they could close it again and set the world to rights? What if they were beyond saving? When one looked at the outcome of Pandora's Box, it seemed highly unlikely that the world would ever be the same again after this terrible tragedy had befallen it.

If she was being completely upfront, then technically, Della knew that the majority of this didn't affect her life at all. She was non-magical, therefore the magical fallout would be of no consequence to her. She would be able, in theory, to continue her existence in the same way as before. She would go to Glamorgan, she would study what she had always wanted to learn, and in time she would forget the events as the dreams of a fevered imagination. But deep down inside, Della knew that she would never forget. These people were her friends, perhaps some of the best friends that she had ever had; Davina was certainly one of the closest and most amusing companions she'd ever had the fortune to meet, and she would not be able to leave them to face their plight and possible destruction alone. But what could she do? Before, when she'd had powers beyond anyone's wildest fantasies, enough raw magic to shift time and reality itself, she could have done something, but now she was powerless to assist. Up until this point, Della had never regretted the loss of her magical capacity, much preferring her uncomplicated, firmly non-magical life, but now she was desperately wishing that the events of the ninth circle had seen a far more favourable outcome. Perhaps then she would be able to lend more of an active hand in the fight against the mysterious foe that the castle was now facing. As it was, Della was limited to the ways in which she could help the school and her friends, but she was determined to do everything she could to aid them, even translating the Legendarae if that was what it would take to ensure their safety. She did not quite know what she was looking for among the winding, twisting, living words. Maybe, when Mildred's book had said that the key to Pandora's Box was held within the pages of the Legendarae, it had meant a literal key in another sense. Perhaps the revered tome that she was struggling over held a clue as to the method by which the Void could be stopped and closed, and the world restored to order.

Frustrated with her lack of progress and feeling a headache beginning from attempting to focus on the ever-shifting blocks of lettering for too long, Della slammed the book shut and dropped it on the desk with a heavy thud, watching it warily for a few seconds in case the book itself, rather than merely the text, developed an independent life and tried to escape its confines in the shop. Satisfied that it was not going to move except under her hand, Della picked up the nearest volume, ironically another classical literary work, a modernised translation of Euripides' _The Trojan Women_. She flicked through it, finding one of Hecuba's many fiery speeches, and Della found herself comparing the bereaved queen to the deputy-headmistress of Cackle's. Like Hecuba, Constance was stoical, fierce, and understood the need for her own emotions to take second place to ensuring the welfare of the other young women under her charge. She hastily flipped forward a few pages to Andromache's entrance, not wanting to think about Constance for a while yet. Della had still not quite got over the funny turn from Thursday morning, after the loathsome Tony had left her shop and Della had found herself swimming, no, _drowning_, in memories that she was certain Constance would not have wanted to share. She had been desperate to say something to the formidable teacher all through the previous day, but every time that they had come into contact, words had failed her, and Della had been unable to formulate an appropriate introduction to such a sensitive topic. She had not seen Constance since she had left the castle in the dusk hours, and Della didn't even know if her friend had returned from her quest to meet the Devil. She shuddered when she thought of the myriad exchanges that might have taken place, and a lump came to her throat as she wondered where the deputy was, and whether she had made it through her encounter unscathed, or whether there would be new scars to bear forever more, be they mental or physical. Just what had Constance had to do and say in order to secure Amelia's improved health, let alone the well-being of the rest of the magical world in the wake of the opening of the Void?

She tried to work out how Tony was tied into the mix; after all, he had been the one to bring her the Legendarae, enchanted to make it seem like an ordinary book, but had it been enchanted at his own hand or was he merely a mule to deposit it in her possession? If the Devil was behind the mysteries of the Void, and the mysteries of the Legendarae, then why had he allowed the book which yielded the explanation of what they were up against to come into Della's hands? Why had Tony been so adamant that she and she alone should see it? She shook her head violently, as if that would help to straighten out the chaotic thoughts in her head. It was all too much of a coincidence, the letter and now the book, and Tony. Della brought her fist down hard on the table in her frustration, but before she could find pen and paper and begin to work around her fraught kernels of ideas with a visual medium, the shop doorbell tinkled and someone entered the little room, bringing with them a gust of unseasonably cold wind before the door closed again. Della shivered slightly at the sudden change in temperature but did not look up from Euripides, not that she was reading the ancient text in the first place. Her frantic feelings would not permit her concentration to focus on anything outside the conundrum of Cackle's current situation for longer than a split second. Despite lamenting her lack of clientele only a few short days before, at that point, a customer was the last thing that Della wanted to see. She had not had enough sleep and she was far too distracted to be able to do her job to its usual high standard.

"Go away," she muttered to herself, then slightly louder, for the benefit of the newcomer, "I'm closed."

"The sign says open," said a familiar, horribly smooth voice. Della's eyes snapped up immediately, and she froze on her makeshift chair as she took in Tony's form standing nonchalantly in the centre of the shop, his hungry eyes constantly moving and his leering smile wider than she had ever seen it, either in memory or in person. The fact that he could stand there so calmly, so, so, so....

Della's thoughts lost all coherence as her body moved on instinct. She was no longer truly seeing, hearing, or thinking; all she could sense or experience were raw and violent emotions competing for dominance, rage and fear and a biting, obsessive need for justice; they were all battling it out in her mind and exploding in front of her eyes as she rose from her box, shoulders hunched defensively and hands spasming into claws. She ran at the hateful presence in the room with a low, predatory growl, attacking him with the viciousness of a mother bear protecting her cubs.

"Get out!" she shrieked as she landed the first blow against his stomach, wanting him to be winded and bend double so that she could continue her assault on the back of his neck, but he didn't even flinch as she persisted in pummelling him, her fists crashing against his torso and her nails tearing at his face, with no visible effect. "Get out, you vile, vile, _creature_!"

She screamed, pushing him physically towards the door with her hands against his chest, the animalistic beast within her chest that his arrival had awakened giving a hiss of satisfaction as she finally caused him to acknowledge pain and move from his statue-like stance. He staggered backwards slightly, and Della continued to try and push him towards the door, her rage fuelling a strength she had never known, the adrenaline pounding through her veins, making her feel as if those life-bringing vessels were on fire.

"You vile animal! This is for Constance!" she yelled, raining a battery of blows against his rocklike chest. "This is for what you did to her, you repulsive, odious..."

But Della was unable to continue, for Tony chose that moment to fight back. His earlier stagger, she realised with a sickening jolt below her stomach, had been a feint, and he was now in a far better position to dispense his retaliation. In a single smooth movement, one hand drew back before slamming into Della's abdomen, the pain acute as the sheer force sent her flying bodily through the air, crashing into the bookshelf behind her desk. Della felt pain sear through the back of her head, causing grey spots to dance in front of her eyes for a few brief moments as she fell to the ground, landing sprawled on the floor of the shop behind her desk. From the inch of space that the desk's elevated feet allowed her to see between it and the floor, Della could just make out Tony's feet, still standing idly in the centre of the room as if nothing had happened. Gingerly, Della reached up a hand to the back of her head and her stomach turned as she encountered sticky, wet warmth.

"So disappointing," Tony sighed, as the image of his shoes became ever more blurred. "I was hoping that we might have made quite a pair, you and I."

It hit her then, the revelation making her retch physically, and Della could taste the bile in her mouth as she coughed weakly. Tony was the Devil, and she couldn't see why she had not connected them before. She had to warn Constance, she had to warn the castle, someone, anyone, if they did not know already. Della's stomach churned horribly; what had taken her so long to make the link? Constance's memories flashed through her mind, making her gag instinctively again as darkness threatened the edges of her vision.

"In fact," Tony continued, choosing to ignore her desperate plight, "I was going to give you a little something as a token of my appreciation for your excellent work with my little book. All it took was those few little pieces of information to confirm our dear Constance's worst fears, and send her running into my arms like an overwhelmed schoolgirl." He paused, and when he next spoke, his voice carried a tone of self-satisfaction that made the hair on the back of Della's neck stand on end. "It took such a long time to get her where I wanted her, and you played your part admirably my dear. But now, it seems that temper of yours will have to be curbed." He tutted in mock disapproval. "What would Constance say if she had seen all that now? What's her mantra? Dignity and deportment at all times?" He laughed, cruel, mocking. "We'll soon see about that."

There was a long silence, and Della could feel her head giving up the fight and preparing to hold up the white flag to unconsciousness. She saw something drop to the ground by Tony's feet and glitter there momentarily before he kicked it in the direction of the desk.

"Well, you may as well have it anyway. Seems a shame to waste it."

Her head throbbing, Della heard him twist the sign on her door to 'closed', exit the shop and turn the lock. She was trapped. A faint glittering caught her eye and she focussed as best she could on Tony's 'gift', the shock of seeing what it was finally sending her into oblivion.

Constance's pentacle, the same one that Della had witnessed in her memory, lay on the floor beside her as a trickle of blood seeped from her wound and dripped onto the twinkling silver and jet.


	17. Chapter 17

**Note:** Ok folks, this was quite a quick update because my Internet is playing up at the moment and I have to snatch windows when I can! I will try and keep to the daily updates as much as possible though. In other, more exciting news, I can also confirm that there will be a **deleted scenes** version of Pandora coming out some time in April!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Seventeen**

"Are you absolutely sure that this is going to work?" asked Griz as Fenny manhandled one of the largest books in the library through the door of the potion laboratory that Griz was holding open.

"Yes," said Fenny, although she knew that the false brightness in her voice would fool no-one. Griz gave her the patented 'I don't believe you' glare, and Fenny sagged, half from dejection and half from the weight of the book that she was carrying. When Miss Cackle had said that it could not be taken out of the library, she had obviously not meant the words because the book was dangerous, but because it was a true physical impossibility. She hefted the book into the room and Griz locked the door behind them, confident that they would not be disturbed by any of the school's pupils since it was not only Saturday, but graduation day. That was, of course, dependent on whether graduation was actually going to go ahead in the circumstances. Whilst the girls, and Fenny and Griz as unofficial guests in the castle, had been informed that Miss Cackle was on the mend, it was evident that she was still unconscious, and there could be no graduation without Miss Cackle. It seemed unlikely that she was going to be enough improved in health to attend the midnight ceremony, but Fenny knew that anything could happen when magic was involved, and in all her years of practising it, it usually did.

"Well," she continued, "I'm not one-hundred per cent sure." Griz's glare was still fixed firmly in place, her eyes unblinking, and the expression was beginning to unnerve her. Fenny hefted the book onto the top table, and Griz was forced to move from her stautelike position in order to run and cast a spell to stop all the delicate jars and pieces of equipment from jumping off the desk and shattering with the force of the book landing on the wood, but as soon as this task was accomplished, she stared pointedly at Fenny again, who gave in.

"Ok, I have no idea whether or not it will work," she admitted. "But think about it. One plan is better than no plan." She smacked the front cover of the book and it emitted a cloud of dust, causing both girls to cough slightly. "This beast is the closest we can get to the Legendarae."

For a moment Fenny lamented the loss of the book; it had returned with Della to her bookshop, but the time that she would waste in flying to the shop to get the Legendarae and trying to translate it in order to find the confirmation that she needed had forced her to carry on in her mission blindly. She had no idea whether her theory would work or not, but she was damn well going to give it a shot.

Having spent most of the past two days in the library, Fenny had found a few pieces of interconnected information in various books that had led her to a conclusion. It was by now common knowledge amongst the witches acquainted with the letter that the Devil had somehow absorbed Della's magical discharge and was using it to control the Void, and it had been generally concluded, however reluctantly, that the only way in which they could prevent any further harm coming to the world at the hands of the opened Void was through Miss Hardbroom giving in to the Devil's demands. Fenny and Griz, however, had refused to give up the search of a resolution that was a lot more favourable towards their former potions teacher, and something that Fenny had read had given her hope anew.

The Devil, the book had argued, was inherently immortal. That was a fact not to be disputed. But when he took on Della's magical power, he also took on, in doing so, some of her mortality. The magical discharge was in itself a marker of the mortality of both magic itself and its casters. In effect, Fenny had reasoned, by taking on Della's magic, the Devil had created both advantages and disadvantages for himself. His power was unprecedented, but this had come at a price: he had forsaken part of his immortality.

Fenny knew, from previous years of research, that there was a potion so powerful that, if administered in the correct way, it could destroy a magician's inherent magic, an act that would kill a mere mortal.

Even if it did not kill the Devil, Fenny thought, hoped, prayed, that it would incapacitate him long enough for Miss Hardbroom to make her escape. And if the magic of the person who had opened the Void was destroyed, then perhaps the Void would close. After all, that was usually the way these things worked: a person under an enchantment became free once more when the enchanter was destroyed. So, Fenny had coerced Griz into helping her make one of the most potent potions known to the magical world: Ambrosia Nex, more commonly known as the Elixir of Death, less famous than its opposite number, but just as powerful.

The list of ingredients was exhaustive, but despite their being numerous, and their amounts extremely precise, they were all relatively ordinary potion components that would be kept in the laboratory on a day-to-day basis, with the exception of one – a drop of blood from the magician that would be administering the potion.

The girls worked in silence for an hour, double-checking each other's measurements to ensure that there would be no silly slip-ups. Fenny found herself thinking of the acne potion that they were brewing under the sink back at Weirdsister, and she wondered if she would ever get back to check on its progress before scolding herself for losing concentration and dropping the last ingredient into the cauldron. All that remained was to let it brew for a little while before adding the final component. This, Fenny thought, was where their problems would truly begin. So far, their preparations had been going on below the knowledge of the rest of the school; not even Mildred, Maud and Enid knew what they were up to. Now, they had to not only tell someone, but tell HB.

Griz caught Fenny's worried expression as they left the top table, sinking back into their old places behind the front desk as if they had never been away, and she gave a weak smile of reassurance.

"What are we going to say?" asked Fenny under her breath, her voice refusing to make itself known in the tenuous circumstances. "What are we going to tell her?"

"We've had an idea," said Griz simply. "An idea that we think will work."

"But there's a certain logistical problem..."

Griz's mouth twitched, as if she didn't want to be reminded, and Fenny sighed as she remembered the last line of the potion. In order for the Elixir to work, it had to be administered intravenously. If only it would have been as effective when taken orally; all HB would have to do would be to lace a glass of wine, or whatever it was that the Devil drank. As things stood, that was not a viable option. Suddenly Griz brought her hand down on the table with a thump of pseudo-triumph that was not matched in her voice when she spoke.

"Got it," she said, although she did not sound particularly thrilled with what it was that she had got. He voice was dry and bitter.

"What?"

"Have you never heard of the phrase 'sleeping with the enemy', Fen?" asked Griz.

Suddenly it all clicked, and Fenny could feel the colour draining out of her face.

"No," she said firmly. "No, I refuse. We cannot suggest that."

"It's as good a way as any."

"Yes, but this is Hardbroom we're talking about!" Fenny hoped that her voice betrayed her avid disinclination to go along with Griz's suggestion; that of getting Miss Hardbroom to seduce the Devil...

"Well, it isn't exactly my ideal scenario either Fenny, but it's the only way that she could get close enough to him to inject the potion!"

Fenny was silent, resting her head in her hands as she waited for the beep from her watch that would tell her that the potion was ready. The noise was tinny in her ears, too loud in the uncomfortable silence of the room, and as she rose to decant the distilled and reduced product into a vial, Griz caught her eye and mouthed, mournfully, 'it's the only way.' She held up the glass to the light, the potion within it colourless and disarmingly tame-looking, awaiting its final ingredient.

"Come on then," she said reluctantly. "Let's do this."

They made their way through the school to the staffroom, and they waited outside for a very long time before Griz bit the metaphorical bullet and knocked on the door three times, slowly.

"Miss Hardbroom?" Fenny called. "It's us."

Neither of the ex-pupils knew why they still called the deputy-head by her title. As they were no longer part of the school, they were not bound to address her in that way like the rest of the students were, and they could have got away with calling her by her first name only, but, for some reason, it just didn't feel right. Even after not being pupils at the school for exactly a year, they still held the potions-mistress in a quiet, respectful awe, and to change their mode of address towards her would have shattered the image in their heads of the remarkable woman, an image that both, however subconsciously, wanted to preserve.

"Come in," came a wearied voice from the other side of the door, and the two girls entered the room tentatively. Miss Hardbroom looked up from the table as they came in, and Fenny could see the tension in her paler than usual complexion and slightly hunched posture.

"Miss, we've had an idea," she began nervously, moving forward and placing the vial on the table in front of the deputy-head, who sat bolt upright on seeing the contents.

"Fenella, Grizelda, is that what I think it is?" she asked, her voice fighting between disapproval, horror and awe. She looked them squarely in the eye, and for a moment Fenny thought that she could see admiration flicker across her face. "Is that Ambrosia Nex?"

Fenny nodded.

"We think that it might destroy the Devil, in part at least," she began.

"And that would in turn close the Void," Griz continued. "We aren't sure though, we need the Legendarae to be certain, but we think it might work. The only problem is..."

But Griz did not need to continue. Miss Hardbroom was aware of the powerful potion as much as they were; Fenny could see that from the way her hands began to shake violently as she picked up the potion.

"One has to be in close quarters to administer it," the teacher finished, her voice quavering, barely above a breath. Griz nodded.

"That's the problem. We thought..." Here Fenny stood on her foot surreptitiously, much as she loved her friend, she did not want to be part of this particular suggestion, after all, it had been solely Griz's idea. "Ok, I thought, perhaps, you could..."

"Don't say it," said Miss Hardbroom, and Fenny cast a spell to catch the vial before it fell out of her trembling hands. "Don't say it Grizelda, I know what you are inferring."

It was then that Fenny realised that they did not have the full story of Miss Hardbroom's history with the Devil by any manner or means. The look in their former teacher's face was not one of disdain at the depravity of Griz's suggestion, but one of pure, muted terror. She looked as if she was about to faint.

"So this is the only way," she murmured to herself, her voice so choked with emotion that it brought a lump to Fenny's own throat. "After everything that has happened, it all comes down to this."

She made to stand, no doubt to leave the room by one means or another in order to confront her emotions in private, but as she did so she swayed slightly, forcing her to sit down again, burying her head in her hands. Griz shot Fenny a worried look and conjured a glass of water, nervously taking one of the distraught teacher's hands in a gentle grip and pressing the glass into it.

"Here," she said, "this'll make you feel better."

Awkward as the situation was, Fenny found herself moving around the desk to place a friendly, if slightly uncertain hand on Miss Hardbroom's shoulder. This was part of growing up, she reflected. She couldn't set her teachers apart from herself forever; she had to accept that they were human, they were women who felt emotions and fears in the same way that Fenny herself did.

"Are you alright now?" she asked, after Miss Hardbroom, the witch she had so often derided as an unfeeling dragon, had taken a few sips of water and appeared to have stopped shaking.

"Yes," came the unsure reply. "Yes, I think I will be fine. Thank you Fenella, Grizelda." The gratitude in her voice was genuine as she took the vial from Fenny once more, opening the stopper before plucking a needle from thin air, pricking her fingertip and watching a drop of blood well up and pool on the pad of her finger. In this moment's pause, Fenny blurted out without thinking.

"You don't have to do it."

Miss Hardbroom tilted her finger and the blood dripped into the vial, turning the potion a virulent crimson colour.

"This is the only way," she repeated, before turning to the two girls. "You may go now."

It was an order, not a suggestion, and reluctant as Fenny was to leave her in her obviously fragile state, she could not help but respect her former teacher's wishes. As she and Griz left the room, she added truly extraordinary courage to the list of qualities that she would always remember the deputy-headmistress of Cackle's Academy for.

* * *

**Note2:** Don't forget to review! *Kimmeth makes a big sign 'saying review' and dangles it from the top of the university physics skyscraper.*


	18. Chapter 18

**Note:** Today's update comes to you from my lunch break. Today I am having fried eggs and mushrooms on cheese on toast. Full of calories but hey, who's counting?

Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Eighteen**

Constance gasped as she stumbled on materialising outside Della's shop, her violent inner turmoil beginning to take its toll on her usually unimpeachable magical control. She placed a hand on the doorframe to steady herself, the intense dizziness that she was feeling reminiscent of her first days of learning to transport herself in this way. She looked at the detailed etchings on the shop windows, taking in the patterns with interest. Constance had only been to the shop once before, back in November, and on that one occasion she had been far too preoccupied with saving the occupants of the establishment to be able to take time to admire the decor. The silvery cobwebbed motifs over the glass were so delicate that they were almost intrinsically magical in themselves, and she remembered overhearing Mildred expressing her disbelief on learning that they were all done by the skilled hand of a non-magician. Constance wondered idly what Della would think when she found that not only had a magical presence walked into her shop once more, but a formidable magical presence on the verge of a breakdown. It seemed unfair in Constance's eyes, and she felt a pang of guilt for what she was about to put Della through, but she honestly did not know who else she could turn to. Constance needed to talk, an unusual feeling in itself for someone such as herself, who was accustomed to keeping her emotions under an iron control and not burdening others with her problems. Constance had always thought of sharing her problems as a natural sign of weakness, probably because such indulgence had never been encouraged during her childhood. The adage 'a problem shared is a problem halved' had only just made itself known in her mind, and she didn't know who she could share her problem with other than Della. In any other circumstances, Amelia would have been the obvious choice, but that option simply was not feasible. Davina was the next logical alternative, but Constance knew just how overwhelming the elderly witch was finding their terrible situation, and she did not want to weigh down the chanting teacher's already laden mind with her own problems. She needed to talk to a fellow woman, so that put the wizards out of the question, and Constance could not get over the barrier of mortification that was preventing her from seeking the counsel of her eldest pupils. There were some lines that, though invisible, were drawn for a reason, and Constance would never be the one to cross them. The only person left, after narrowing down the list, was Della.

Her head no longer spinning, Constance straightened and made to enter the shop, but found the door locked. She looked down and saw the 'closed' sign firmly in place, and she was about to move away and give up her self-assigned project when something caught her eye, causing her to peer through the glass into the darkened room. Behind the desk, one of the half-empty bookshelves seemed dented, as if something had slammed into it with great force. Constance knew that it could not still be unrepaired from her confrontation with Agatha seven months prior; Della was proud of her shop and deeply protective of her rare works, any damage to the place would have been rectified as soon as possible. No, Constance was certain that there was something amiss. She tried the handle once again before casting an unlocking spell, letting the door swing open into the gloomy shop.

"Della?" she called warily. "Della, are you in here?"

Her heart jolted painfully as she heard a soft groan from behind the desk, and she ran across the room to peer over the heavy furniture, gasping when she saw Della sprawled on the ground, congealed blood matting in her chocolate-brown hair.

"Della, are you alright?" She rushed round the desk and helped the young woman, evidently only just coming round, into a sitting position. "What happened?"

"Constance?" Della's voice was weak and groggy as she opened her eyes and regarded the witch blearily. It took her a few moments to come to fully, and when she did, her eyes widened and filled with tears. "Oh Constance, it was him! He brought me the Legendarae and then he came back this morning and I just lost it... oh lord, what was I thinking?"

Constance didn't need to be told who 'he' was. She had espied the all-too-familiar pentacle lying on the ground beside Della, and she picked it up, turning it over between her fingers before pocketing it. The Devil had been to Della. He had been to her as Tony, and Della knew everything. Constance knew that Della had acquired some of her own memories during the time when they had established a link in order for Constance to channel the Liaison's magic, and now Della had accessed those memories. Della knew what Tony had done. Contrary to everything that she thought she might have felt at that moment, the strongest emotion that washed over Constance was one of relief. There was, at last, someone else who would understand why the plight that she had found herself in was so terrifying a prospect to her, without Constance having to go through the trauma of reliving the events once more in order to explain them. Before she could recount her own worries though, there was the very real and very immediate problem of Della's injuries to attend to. If what Constance had divined from Della's few words was accurate, then she dreaded to think of what Tony might have inflicted upon the distressed young woman.

"Come on," she said, before Della could break down fully. "Let's get you cleaned up." She helped the younger woman to her feet, holding her shoulders in a tight but not unkindly grip.

"Where..?" Della began, but Constance cut her off.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," she said firmly, hoping that her tone of voice was enough to convince Della not to argue. "You might have concussion, or worse, and I am in no position to diagnose you."

Della opened her mouth to dispute this before shrugging minutely and giving in, leaning her no-doubt aching head against Constance's shoulder as they disappeared, materialising unseen in the shadow of an ambulance just outside the local casualty department.

XXX

"Constance Hardbroom?"

Constance looked up as a nurse peered round the door of the consulting room into the main waiting room. The young woman appeared worried, and Constance's heart leapt to her throat.

"Yes?" she managed to croak.

"Your friend is being discharged now." The nurse paused. "Well, she's discharging herself. She was very insistent that she be allowed to leave. The doctor thinks it would be a good idea for her to have someone to keep an eye on her, although we have told her what to look out for in case she has any symptoms of delayed concussion." The nurse continued to clarify some points but Constance wasn't listening; her thoughts were too full of both relief that Della was recovered enough to be capable of discharging herself and exasperation that she was doing so. The nurse finished speaking, shook her head and shrugged, murmuring under her breath to herself. "I guess some people just don't like hospitals." At this point she stood back to let Della pass through the doors. The younger woman was now sporting a clean white bandage around her head and was muttering something about being made to sign a Discharge Against Medical Advice form declaring that 'basically if I keel over it's my own stupid fault'.

She stopped chuntering and smiled weakly when she saw Constance rise from the hard plastic chair to meet her.

"Della..." she began, but the words she wanted to use had failed her. She knew why Della wanted to leave the hospital so badly; the sky had darkened into an intense indigo for a period of no less than an hour and a half whilst Della was being seen to, and Constance knew that Della was anxious of the looming magical fallout.

"I'm not staying here," muttered Della. "Have you any idea how many horrible bugs are spread by hospitals? You're healthier staying away, believe me."

Constance shook her head in exasperation as she guided the younger woman through the doors of the accident and emergency department and steered her into the shadows in order to transport her back to her flat. They materialised on the doorstep and Della fumbled with her keys before giving up and pressing them into Constance's hands. As soon as they were inside, Della popped a couple of paracetamol from the box sitting haphazardly on the hall windowsill and made to go into the kitchen, but Constance took her hand and pulled her through to her bedroom, indicating for her to lie down.

"I'm perfectly alright," grumbled Della.

"You aren't," said Constance pointedly, "and you should have stayed in the hospital."

"The microbe breeding ground, you mean."

"Della, we both know that isn't the reason that you discharged yourself."

Della exhaled heavily; it was more than a sigh, carrying more sorrow and resonance, the quiet whisper of her breath contained pure emotion. She sank down onto the end of her bed, pressing the heel of her hand into the bandage attached around her forehead.

"You wouldn't come to my shop for no reason, Constance. Something's going to happen, and I'm damned if I'm going to be stuck in a cold, grey, impersonal hospital bed whilst the world as we know it could be ending."

Constance felt a lump come into her throat. It was true, she had come to Della's shop for a reason, but that reason was solely selfish, the need to talk and bemoan her situation. It was not worth Della risking her health by staying out of the hospital, no matter what her feelings towards the hygiene of the establishment might be.

She sat on the end of the bed next to Della.

"I have to go back," she said simply. "I have to go back to the Devil. I have to..." She paused, barely able to articulate the words and far from able to mask the tremor in her voice as she said them. "_Seduce _him."

Della bit her lip and gave a small smile, motioning for Constance to continue. Constance gave her a succinct account of the morning's events, finishing with her appearing outside the bookshop in need of Della's consolation, and as she spoke, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders, even if it was only marginal. As she reached the end of her tale, Della carefully got off the end of the bed and moved over to her wardrobe, opening the door and pulling out a black garment bag.

"Here," she said, her fingers ghosting over the dark fabric, and toying with the zip but not opening it. "I think you'll be needing this more than I will."

"Della, I..." Constance began, but Della cut her off.

"It doesn't fit me," she said firmly. "I'm too small for it and too short for it." She looked Constance up and down almost as if she was appraising her, but not in the uncomfortable way that the Devil had done. "You've got the form to carry it off."

"I..." Constance was overwhelmed; she could only watch as Della hung the dress on the back of her bedroom door and went over to the cheval mirror in the corner, running her fingers along the bandage wrapped around her head in her reflection. As she did so, Constance thought she noticed something, and her attention was immediately diverted away from the sudden gift that Della was giving her.

"Do that again," she said, coming to stand beside her younger friend, who gave her a puzzled look in the mirror as she dragged her fingers across it. A faint trail of blue shimmered along after her touch, sparkling momentarily before fading. The mirror was enchanted.

"It's always done that," said Della. "Ever since I've owned it. I just thought it was something to do with the treatment of the glass."

Constance shook her head.

"Della, this is a magic mirror. We witches use it for communicating between ourselves." Constance went into her bag and pulled out a compact, much like the one she had given to Mildred the previous morning, and held it out to Della, who took it gingerly, turning it over and over, looking for the magic in it. "You breathe on the glass and write the name of the person you want to contact."

"Like Mildred's," Della breathed, and Constance nodded, before a terrible thought suddenly crossed her mind.

"How did you come to own it?" she asked Della warily.

"Oh, it was Dad's," said Della. "One of our regulars sold it to him. It's been in my room since I was four. I've never got rid of it, it's too pretty."

Constance breathed a sigh of relief – at least it had not been a sudden acquisition that could be linked to the Devil – and looked at the carvings around the edge of cheval, beautiful angels and fairies in intricate, mesmerising detail. There was something inherently magical in the mirror, and she couldn't place quite what it was.

"It's getting on," said Della, looking at her watch. "The waiting times at A and E never get any shorter."She paused. "You should probably be getting back."

"I promised the hospital that I would keep an eye on you," said Constance sternly.

"I'm..." Della began, but Constance cut her off.

"Don't you dare say 'fine'," she warned. She sighed, knowing that she needed to get back to the castle, unwilling to think of the state of panic that it might have worked itself into in her absence, but at the same time she knew that she could not, and would not, leave Della unattended in her delicate state. "If I take you to your mother's on my way back to the castle, will you promise to stay there with her?"

Della rolled her eyes before giving in and nodding. A few moments later they were outside on the doorstep, the dress carrier draped over Constance's arm as Della locked up the flat. Presently she held out the compact, but Constance closed her fingers over it.

"Keep it," she said. "Consider it to be exchange for the dress."

Della smiled as they disappeared from the shadowed doorstep, and Constance wondered, as they travelled to Della's mother's house, why Della's magic mirror had struck her as being different from the others she had seen.

* * *

**Note2:** As usual, all will be revealed soon enough. And don't forget to leave a review!


	19. Chapter 19

**Note:** Here we are: It's that time again - **Pandora's Box** update time! Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Nineteen**

Mildred threw her pencil onto her desk in exasperation, leaning her elbows on the blank piece of paper in front of her and resting her head in her hands with a long, drawn-out sigh. She had been attempting to write her graduation speech for the previous two hours, and all she had achieved so far was a waste-paper basket full of screwed up and scribbled on sheets. In truth, Mildred didn't even know why she was trying, when the fate of the school was hanging on such a delicate thread that it seemed unlikely that graduation was ever going to take place. She glanced wistfully behind her at the robes and mortarboard still hung up on the wardrobe door, wondering, in an ever-more melancholy train of thought, whether or not she was ever going to have chance to throw the peculiar hat in the air like in the many pictures she had seen of triumphant university students. Graduation, Mildred felt, gave her the chance to pretend to be normal, the chance to envision what her life might have been like had she not discovered the well of magic deep within her soul that had led her to her current situation. Ordinary university students, Mildred thought bitterly, would not have their graduation cancelled because the head of their establishment had been struck down by a mysterious illness caused by the Devil. Whilst it had been firmly ascertained that Miss Cackle was now getting better thanks to Miss Hardbroom's intervention with the demonic perpetrator, she had still not woken up from her deep slumber, and it was looking exceedingly doubtful that she would be in a fit state to lead the proceedings when graduation ceremony began at midnight. Miss Hardbroom too would be absent; endeavouring to secure their safety, and Mildred was beginning to envision a rather depleted ceremony should it go ahead at all.

She leaned back in her chair, worrying her bottom lip nervously between her teeth as the sky began to darken once more. It had been doing so all day at various intermittent points, the periods of indigo light lasting longer and longer each time. The last one had been an hour and a half, and Mildred had privately wondered whether she was ever going to see bright yellow sunshine again. It was a sign, there could be no doubt of that, and the ominous colour of the clouds had convinced Mildred that it was a sign of something less-than-favourable about to occur. The violent wind that had attacked them when they had tried to fly through the mysterious vapour two days before was also proof of its disreputable nature. It was all linked in with the Void, Mildred was certain, and she was frustrated that she couldn't divine exactly what was going on. It was not the anticipation of evil to come that was worrying her so much as not knowing precisely what to expect. It was as bad as the time in the ninth circle, if not worse, because this time they didn't have a secret weapon that they believed could defeat whatever terrible plans the Devil had in store for them. Last time they had Della. This time, they had nothing except half-formed conjecture and Miss Hardbroom. True, the deputy-head was a force to be reckoned with, but even she could not win against the Devil if he wished it. Mildred had heard, through various sources, the outcome of her form-mistress's meeting the previous evening, and it made her shiver to think of the horrors that lay in store for her when she returned for a second time that night. Miss Hardbroom had spent most of the day out of the castle, leaving the rather perplexed and flustered wizards in charge temporarily whilst she sought some much-needed solace in Della, and Mildred wondered what on earth it must have been like to be in her shoes. Not for the first time in her tenure at the school, Mildred found herself wondering at the complete contradiction that was Constance Hardbroom. On the face of it, she was a terrifyingly powerful witch who could take no greater delight from scaring her pupils witless and berating them severely when they did things wrong. She was cold, inflexible, traditional, and, as she had personally admitted to Mildred some years ago, she was unlikely to be able to change any of those things. At the same time, however, she was prepared to go to such length to protect the students who, one might think to witness her teaching, she despised. Mildred smiled as she remembered various incidents in her past years at the school were her teacher's carefully hidden compassion had broken through her meticulously constructed barriers and manifested itself. Like she had remarked to Maud and Enid two days previously, perhaps HB was softening towards them slightly, although she didn't know if this was an active change on the part of their potions teacher or if it was merely a change in the way that Mildred herself perceived her. In light of the qualities she had already recited to herself, Mildred was inclined towards the latter option, but she couldn't be sure. Had Miss Hardbroom really been smiling a little more than usual or was it simply that Mildred was noticing things that she had previously been blinkered to?

Mildred stood as the sky began to lighten slightly, surprised that this particular dark spell should have come and gone so quickly after the last one, and she determined to find Maud and Enid for some relief from her depressive train of thought. Her friends had tactfully left her alone when she had announced at breakfast that she was going to be working on her speech all day, but now she wanted to see them and talk to them, in the vain hope that it might inspire her to write something meaningful if nothing else. She opened her door and made her way through the corridors of the school, unusually deserted considering it was a Saturday. No doubt the other girls were holed up in their rooms thinking along the same melancholy lines as Mildred was – would Cackle's ever be the same again after this latest tragedy to befall them? Would the headmistress fully recover from her plight? There were so many 'what-if's, and Mildred pushed them firmly to the back of her mind, concentrating on her goal of finding Maud and Enid. A knock on their doors went unanswered, and Mildred surmised that they were probably in the library with Fenny and Griz, desperately searching for any last minute information that might be of use to Miss Hardbroom when she undertook her second rendezvous with the Devil. She changed direction, and she was nearly at the library when a noise caught her ear. It was a rumbling, the same low rumbling that they had heard whilst researching the Void after they had delivered the prophetic letter, a force as well as a sound, the reverberations seeming to make the ground beneath Mildred's feet tremble as if in her own private earthquake.

"What in God's name was that?" asked a familiar voice, and Mildred turned to see Miss Drill coming out of Miss Cackle's room. The PE teacher looked tired and fraught, evidently the result of a long period of travelling.

"I don't know," Mildred began, then broke off. "Aren't you supposed to be looking after your aunt?"

"She's getting better now," said Miss Drill. "I came back for graduation; I was intending to go back to her tomorrow, but given the current state of affairs..." The young teacher's thoughts obviously mirrored Mildred's own. She indicated Miss Cackle's door. "Miss Bat has told me everything. I believe we have you to thank for getting Della out to nurse her."

Mildred gave a slight nod; the action had not been particularly heroic as such, just the product of common sense, but Miss Bat had always been prone to exaggeration.

"How is she?" Miss Drill asked. "Della, I mean. Was she alright about it?"

Whilst Mildred knew that Della and the PE teacher were not as close as some of the other friendships that the former Liaison had made within the school, she knew that they shared a common bond as fellow non-magicians. Both of them found magic to be awe-inspiring, fantastic, mesmerising, but at the same time they also saw it for what it truly was – dangerous, confusing and overwhelming at times. Mildred wondered how many times over the last four years that Miss Drill had wished that she could simply retreat into her own little world like Della could do in her bookshop, especially when Mildred had been the cause of yet another magical catastrophe that had left the PE cupboard in ruins or ended up with her landing on the teacher rather spectacularly from a great height.

She was dragged out of her thoughts by the mysterious noise coming again. It was louder this time, and Mildred shivered as she realised that it was definitely no natural phenomenon. The roar had undeniably been produced by some kind of animal, and from the raw power in the sound, it did not seem to be a particularly friendly one, and this didn't answer the question of precisely what it was, nor why it was making the floor shake. Something that could produce a noise of that calibre would have to be massive in size; far too big to be housed beneath the castle. Mildred spent a long time staring at the flags on the floor, almost expecting some hellish beast to burst up through them and drag her down to the ninth circle.

"Come on," said Miss Drill. "We'll never know if we don't look. It could be perfectly harmless."

Mildred raised an eyebrow but followed her teacher towards the stairs to the dungeons anyway; both knew that the statement was nigh-on impossible to be true.

Halfway down the spiralling staircase into the darkness of the deserted kitchens – the school had been surviving on magical food in the absence of Mrs Tapioca's cooking skills, as nutritional as the real thing but nowhere near as satisfactory – Mildred saw an unnatural shadow and stopped dead with a choked shriek. The shadow stopped too and appeared to turn before speeding up the staircase once more, and revealing itself to belong to the Chief Wizard, his worried face illuminated by the glow from his staff.

"Is everything alright ladies?" he asked, concerned. "Imogen? Is that you?"

"It is indeed," replied the teacher, her voice slightly shaken from Mildred's sudden, blood-curdling scream. "I take it that you had the same thought as us."

"If you are on your way to investigate the source of this unsettling roar that keeps ripping through the castle on intermittent occasions and threatening to knock all the ornaments off the staff-room mantle then yes, I had the same thought as you." The wizard paused. "Whatever it is, I don't think it's in a good mood."

Mildred shivered, not wanting to be reminded, and after a few moments of silence, the party of three continued on their way by mutual consent, Hellibore leading the convoy and Miss Drill bringing up the rear. As they neared the foot of the staircase, the light of the wizard's staff flickered and died. He shook the implement with a look of perplexity and tapped the ball a few times before shrugging, his brow still furrowed in puzzlement.

"Out of batteries?" suggested Miss Drill drily.

"No, it's powered by magic," said Hellibore, either unaware of or choosing to ignore the irony in her tone. "It's never done that before. Most strange."

Mildred shivered in the sudden darkness, wishing she had brought a torch or a candle, before realising with a jolt of her stomach that even without the light from the staff, it was not altogether dark. A faint aconite glow was creeping its way up the stairs, almost like the sickly light that luminous lichens growing in caves gave out. It could not be a natural occurrence, surely she would have noticed it on one of her many previous trips into this part of the castle. The unworldly light reminded her of the ever-swirling cloudbanks that had been appearing sporadically above the castle, but she knew that this could not be the cause; they were deep underground in the bowels of the structure, the heart of the foundations.

"This isn't right," she began, but her words failed her as they rounded the final turn of the staircase and Hellibore stopped dead at the sight that greeted them, the two young women having to pull up short to avoid crashing into him.

All thoughts flew from Mildred's head as she gazed in mixed astonishment and terror at the cause of the terrible sounds that had been haunting the castle...

* * *

**Note2:** Dun dun dun! Stay tuned for the next piece of the puzzle, coming soon to a screen near you!

(And don't forget to review!)


	20. Chapter 20

**Note: **Erm, not much to say really. Enjoy! We will be getting back to the HB/ Devil action soon, have no fears!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty**

Egbert could not help but let his jaw drop open involuntarily at the sight in front of him, thanking whoever it was who was up there that he'd had the sense to stop in time instead of carrying on walking. The bottom step of the staircase had vanished, along with the rest of the dungeon, being replaced by a swirling indigo cloudbank of the sort that had been witnessed in the skies surrounding the castle and its environs at various irregular points throughout the past few days. The vortex stretched as far as the eye could see, unconfined by what had previously been the limits of the strong, immoveable stone walls of the castle. It was not, however, the strange, eddying mist that caused his heart to pound heavy in his throat with fear, but the figure at the heart of it, a figure that Egbert had hoped never to have to see again for the remainder of his life. Far away, deep below them in the centre of the thick cloud, his figure obscured by the vapours, was the true form of the Devil, claws and wings and muscular sinews unchanged from the time that Egbert had first witnessed the beast in the ninth circle. There was no doubt now that this was the cause of the terrifying roaring that was shaking the school, and Egbert realised with a painful jolt what it all meant. Suddenly everything slotted into place, the misplaced intentions and reasons now becoming awfully clear. The Devil had opened the Void with the idea of releasing his true form from its bondage in hell, encased to the waist in smooth, solid ice, constantly flapping and fighting against his constraints.

Egbert's mind was working in overdrive as he ran through his thoughts in his head, trying to make sense of everything, when a violent blast of icy wind created by the Devil's wildly beating wings brought him to his senses.

"Run!" he yelled to the two shaken women behind him, turning on his heel and following them as they careered up the stairs pell-mell, sometimes bouncing off the walls in the cramped space of the staircase in their haste to be away from the frightening and indeed dangerous vision. Halfway up, the light of Egbert's staff flickered on again as another almighty roar shook the stonework and masonry around them, but it provided precious little comfort. They did not stop until they were out into the comparative daylight of the main castle itself, although Egbert noted with a grim sense of inevitability that the light had faded under dense cloud cover once again. He turned, panting, to the door that lead to the staircase and cast a locking spell before conjuring a sign explaining that the dungeons were dangerous and strictly out of bounds. He didn't think that it would be profitable at this stage to scare the pupils further by detailing exactly why the dungeons were now out of bounds; he trusted the girls to be aware of their already precarious situation and accept that some things could not be explained. To his young charges at Camelot, however, 'forbidden' was a synonym for 'exciting', and he knew that stronger measures would have been required to keep them from meddling, even if the signs and warnings were for their own protection.

"We've got to tell Miss Hardbroom," said Imogen. Egbert and Mildred shook their heads in unison.

"She's still out," said Mildred. "She isn't back from Della's yet." She paused, then triumph lit up her face. She pulled a compact mirror out of her pocket, and Egbert recognised it to be one of the many implements that magicians used as one of their many forms of quick communication. Imogen seemed puzzled at first but when Mildred misted up the glass with her breath and scrawled in it, her expression lightened before her brow furrowed again.

"Mildred, Miss Hardboom's mirror lives in the staffroom."

"I know." Mildred sighed, there had obviously been no response to the summons. "I thought she might have had a compact as well. Evidently not." This setback seemed to unsettle her somewhat, and Egbert noticed how the compact trembled as she shut it and returned it to its hiding place. They remained standing in the entrance hall as a worried threesome, no-one speaking, each of them going over what they had just experienced for what seemed like an age before another deafening rumble brought them to their senses and they moved away from the door, almost as if it was going to burst open and the Devil's true form erupt out and attack them at any moment.

"I think we all need a cup of tea," said Imogen faintly after the roar had died away, and Egbert agreed heartily, leading the way down towards the staffroom. Mildred busied her shaking hands with the urn and teapot as he sank down into the chair usually occupied by Miss Bat when she was in residence, wondering how he was going to share what he knew, what he had deduced from everything that had happened.

"Is that... Was that... Was that the Void?" asked Imogen, accepting her cup from Mildred and seeming not to notice when the young witch spilled half its contents into her lap in her unease.

"Yes... No... Not really." Egbert thought he saw the women relax slightly as he said these latter words, the immediate tense stance that they had taken when he had answered in the affirmative dissolving away almost as soon as they had adopted it. Egbert took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to get his thoughts in order before he began his explanation.

"That was not the Void, although it was most definitely caused by the Void. I can see no other explanation." He paused, checking that they were still with him. "When the castle was dragged to hell, back in November, it performed a cross-dimensional shift. It physically moved from one world – the world of the living – to another world – the nine circles of hell, the world of the dead. Because of this, the barrier between the worlds has become weakened in the vicinity of the castle. It has become so weakened that, in theory at least, if the magical influence is powerful enough, it can be manipulated. Have holes torn in it, in fact."

The sound of smashing china echoed around the otherwise silent room as Mildred dropped her teacup on the floor. She didn't even seem to realise that she had done it, staring at Egbert with wild and frightened eyes before eventually breaking away from his gaze and glancing down at her feet, coming to her senses as she bent down and scrabbled on the floor, muttering muted apologies. Imogen took pity on her and dropped onto her knees to help her, and between them they picked up the larger pieces whilst Egbert cast a spell to clear up the smaller, invisible slivers.

"The Devil has been using the magic from the Void to open a hole in the barrier," Mildred whispered. "That was his plan all along?"

"I wouldn't like to guess what the Devil's plan is," said Egbert heavily. "But yes, it seems likely that he is using the magic from the Void to manipulate the barrier with the ultimate aim of allowing his true form to escape through the rift to wreak havoc upon us once more."

It was a lot to take in, Egbert realised that. He fell silent for a few moments, trying desperately to think of some news that could take the edge off the terrible sense of foreboding that enveloped the room. There had to be something that they could do, some way in which this awful chain of events could be stopped, but Egbert could not find one for all his efforts. The Devil was in control now. Just when they thought that they had managed to get one step ahead of him, he threw them another challenge, truly living up to his reputation as a being of chaos. The castle had never seen so much disorder, as quiet and nondescript as it was. It was not like any other crisis that Egbert had experienced, to him a crisis meant screaming, people running around, everyone exuding a frantic aura of panic. This particular situation had none of those things, but it was just as much of a catastrophe. The castle was silent; there was no-one to be seen, let alone anyone moving beyond the speed of a brisk walk, and the individuals that he met were emanating not alarm, but rather despair. The headmistress had been incapacitated, perhaps the first fatal blow to the school's morale, and her deputy had been shaken irretrievably by the events. As Egbert had thought to himself the previous morning, this fact in itself was enough to make the entire castle rock with her. Whether she realised it or not, pupils, staff and other professional colleagues alike looked to Constance to gauge their own reactions to things, and seeing her respond in such a way had thrown everyone off kilter. It was a state of mind that none of them were used to, and it had affected them accordingly.

It was as if the entire castle was on the verge of giving up and accepting its fate, but through it all, underneath the oppressing air of doom, Egbert thought that he could detect something else, defiance, perhaps, or resilience, leading to a faint but persistent flicker of hope that was present in every dejected pair of eyes. The inhabitants of the castle knew that the odds were against them, but they still prayed for deliverance from a pre-destined destruction, and Egbert could not help but admire them for that.

Presently Imogen left the room, having appointed herself the task of relaying the latest set of events to Davina, and Mildred carried on staring down at her hands, folded in her lap, almost as if she was waiting for them to work magic of their own accord and save them from this diabolic state of affairs. Egbert's heart went out to her. She was the head-girl, the highest position of authority within the school below the staff themselves, and naturally the other students would look to her for guidance and reassurance, things that she could not give in her current frame of mind. He continued his fraught mental search for some alleviation, but nothing was forthcoming. He was surprised, therefore, when Mildred volunteered it herself.

"It'll be alright," she said with a sigh. "If the Void closes, then presumably everything that was caused by the Void will be nullified as well, since it does not have the power of the Void to sustain it. It's like Dracula. If he dies, anyone bitten by him becomes human again."

Egbert wondered at her logic, infallible as it was. How had she drawn that conclusion when he had not? He shrugged inwardly, concentrating more on the sudden lightness of his heart. There was a solution. A tenuous one, granted, but a solution nevertheless. Mildred rose, a weak smile flashing across her face as she took in his visible amazement.

"I'm going to tell Miss Drill and Miss Bat," she said pointedly. "You should probably tell Mr Rowan-Webb what's going on."

That was a point, thought Egbert. He hadn't seen his friend all day, and he had no idea where he could be found. He went to ask Mildred for his whereabouts but she had already left, and Egbert felt no inclination to chase after her. Sighing, he picked up his staff and went in search, eventually running his friend to ground in the greenhouse. He looked so happy in there, talking to the plants, most of which were sitting under a thick blanket of frost – Egbert didn't like to inquire as to why – that he was loathe to interrupt his friend's personal haven by being a harbinger of bad news. Algernon was, in many ways, like Davina. He was a perfectly competent wizard (well, perhaps a little sub-par when it came to shape-shifting, but who was Egbert to dwell on that), but he was somewhat overwhelmed by the situation; his decades as a frog had not exactly left him well-equipped to deal with something of this calibre. Egbert was privately impressed with how well both Davina and Algernon appeared to be taking the events in their stride, both of them taking initiatives that Egbert would not have expected them to do ordinarily. Eventually, Algernon opened the door and beckoned Egbert inside.

"Come in Bert," he sighed. "It's nice and warm in here, except if you're a carrot."

Both wizards looked up at the rapidly darkening sky and shivered involuntarily, an unseasonal chill rushing through them. Egbert entered the greenhouse and was about to stall for time by asking precisely why the marrows were wrapped up in tartan blankets when Algernon forced his hand.

"Ok Bert, spit it out. I know you wouldn't come to find me just for a friendly chat. Not in the circumstances."

Egbert sighed; his oldest friend knew him too well. He launched into his tale of the latest chapter in the cataclysmic saga that was rapidly unfolding within the castle, Algernon listening attentively. Once he had finished, they sat in silence for a few long minutes.

"Well," said Algernon eventually. "It's out of our hands now." He gazed up at the castle walls beyond the murky glass of the greenhouse, and Egbert knew exactly what he meant.

It was all up to Constance.

* * *

**Note2:** Next time on **Pandora's Box**: Fenny, Griz, HB and a travel hairdryer. What could possibly go wrong?

*Kimmeth offers cookies as a reward for errant reviewers.*


	21. Chapter 21

**Note:** This was actually one of the first chapters I wrote. It's been waiting for your approval for a long time... So I thought I'd post it, seeing as though I have nothing to do whilst waiting for my veggie burger and potato wedges to cook. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-One**

Clad in only her dressing gown, with her wet hair piled on top of her head in a towel, Constance wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, what she was letting herself in for. She paused, her hand hovering over the door handle to her room, unwilling to actually open it and face whatever horrors lay in wait behind it.

"Miss Hardbroom," came Fenella's voice with a sigh. "You can't hide forever."

Constance set her jaw firmly and opened the door.

"Fenella Feverfew, Grizelda Blackwood, I would like to remind you that, even though you are no longer pupils here at Cackle's, I am still a far more qualified and powerful witch than both of you, and I still have the propensity to make both of your existences a living hell," she said through gritted teeth as she crossed the room to her dressing table and the two ex-students, who were smiling like the cats who had got the proverbial cream.

"An interesting choice of words to use in the circumstances," mused Grizelda, "but point taken and duly noted."

Constance growled softly under her breath and cursed herself for ever agreeing to accepting Fenella and Grizelda's offer of assistance in the first place. She sat down in front of the mirror but before Fenella could make to sweep the towel off her head and let her hair cascade loose, Constance spoke again.

"I would also like to remind you," she added stiffly, "that this is a highly irregular situation that will never be repeated. Ever. Have I made myself perfectly understood?"

Fenella bowed low in mock reverence.

"Of course. Now." She straightened and smiled wickedly at her partner-in-crime. "Let's get to work!"

The girls were obviously in their element, Constance noted grimly as they attacked her hair, and she was half-worried, half-intrigued to see the outcome. It could not be denied that Fenella and Grizelda were both excellent witches, and they could have gone so far had they lent that talent to the appliance of more academic pursuits, rather than the formulation of magical beauty products and various other items. When, in their third year, Grizelda had pointed out to a fuming Constance, who had just confiscated their stocks, that they were making a veritable fortune, it had only served to land her in detention for a week. Now, she had to admit that their extra-curricular activities were actually coming into good use, however uncomfortable she might be.

"Now we have hit a slight flaw," said Grizelda, waving a dangerous looking implement in the mirror, "in that whilst we have managed to procure a set of curling tongs from our lovely flatmate, we have no electricity in the castle." The blonde sighed despondently at the plug, and Constance felt a slight wave of relief, that faded once more when she saw the amount of hair adhered to the brush that Fenella had been using to comb out her tresses. It was a miracle she wasn't bald. "But luckily, we have also managed to purloin from her a battery-powered travel hairdryer, and we two have ingenuity enough between us."

"Couldn't you just use magic?" pleaded Constance as Grizelda took a chunk of hair and wound it round a roller. "Please?"

"Miss Hardbroom!" said Fenella, feigning shock. "Magic should not be used for selfish or trivial purposes! Surely you wouldn't want us to forget that most important rule in the Witches' Code!"

Bested, Constance settled for glowering at her younger companions in the mirror.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she muttered.

Grizelda bent down so that her face was level with Constance's in the mirror.

"Every second," she replied with a grin. "Now shut up and let us get on with it. You're going to look gorgeous."

"Grizelda, I am nearly forty years old!"

"So?"

Constance sighed with exasperation, wishing that her ex-pupils were not so unable to see how inappropriate it was for a witch of her years to look 'gorgeous'. She closed her eyes and let them get on with it, the pawing and pulling reminding her of the many times when Alison had almost tied her to a kitchen chair and given her a makeover. At the time, she had enjoyed it, and it had certainly taken all the effort out of titivating, but now it served only as a chilling reminder of the last time her long hair had been in rollers, and of the fallout that had followed. She shuddered, earning herself a remonstration from Fenella.

"Keep still! Or we'll go wonky, and that would never do."

After a while, the tugging on her hair stopped, and Constance dared to open her eyes, groaning inwardly at the mess of rollers.

"Right," said Fenella as they stood back to admire their handiwork so far. "I shall leave you in the very capable hands of my partner here to do your make-up."

Grizelda's eyes positively gleamed in anticipation.

"Well," she said, clicking her fingers to adjust Constance's dressing-table stool away from the mirror. "Having pooled all our resources..."

"And everyone else in the school's" snorted Fenella from the doorway, and Constance heard the dress-cover holding Della's evening gown unzip. She had not had the courage to look at it yet, and she felt a little worried that Fenella was getting the first glimpse. Grizelda ignored her and continued.

"...we think we might just have enough bits and pieces to do a good job."

"Isn't that rather unhygienic?" asked Constance.

"Well, you didn't exactly leave us much choice!" said Grizelda, her tone exasperated as she swept a hand over Constance's own scant make-up items: pressed powder, mulberry lipstick and a worn-down eyeliner pencil that was at least twenty years old. Sighing theatrically, she picked up a sponge and began dabbing base onto Constance's nose. There was silence for a few moments, broken only by a low whistle from Fenella.

"Wow," she breathed. "That is a dress and a half..."

There was a pregnant pause, and whilst Constance didn't like to consider what Fenella was thinking at the best of times, she was still completely unprepared for her next remark.

"What are you going to wear underneath it?"

"I beg your pardon!" she spluttered, causing Grizelda to sigh and mutter about smudged lipstick. She turned to see Fenella standing in front of the dress appreciatively, and, her heart sinking, she realised that it was strapless, and the full meaning of Della's remark about being too small for it hit home.

"No offence intended Miss, but you don't look like the sort of woman to own a multiway bra."

Constance sighed and went to rest her forehead in her palm, but Grizelda's screech of 'don't touch your face!' put paid to that idea. Just when she thought the humiliation could not get any worse, she heard the scraping of wood on wood and realised that Fenella was going through her underwear drawer.

"Fenella Feverfew, drop those knickers now!" Constance cursed the hot tears of embarrassment that were threatening to well up under her eyelids. "I shall sort out my undergarments in my own time, thank you very much!"

Angry sparks shot out of Constance's fingers almost on impulse, stinging Fenella away from the drawer. There was silence as the two younger witches looked at each other, and from their expressions, both knew that they had overstepped the mark this time. Grizelda returned to the vast array of make-up on the dressing table somewhat abashed, and Fenella tactfully zipped up the dress-cover again. After a few more minutes of prodding, Grizelda stood back and admired her handiwork with a satisfied smile. They left her alone to dress without a word, and Constance was most reluctant to call them back in so that they could continue her transformation, but she knew that it would not do to leave it half-done.

It was some time before the girls finished putting the 'finishing touches' to her ensemble, and finally stood back and allowed her to see herself fully. Constance looked at herself in the mirror, at the way her hair was pinned, the loose, corkscrew curls framing her face, at the way Grizelda had done her make-up, smoky grey eyes and scarlet lips, a proper little seductress. She looked like a different woman, at least fifteen years younger.

"We told you you'd look gorgeous," said Grizelda, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the amazement that was obviously apparent on her former teacher's face. "And you didn't believe us."

The smile on the blonde girl's face soon faded though, as the reality of what Constance was about to do was creeping up on them thick and fast. It was almost time, and both of the younger witches knew that for all their hard work in transforming her, this might be the last anyone saw of Constance.

"We'll... leave you to yourself now," said Fenella, tugging Grizelda's arm to pull her out of the room. They paused at the doorway, all of their earlier glee at having the deputy-head at such a disadvantage gone. "Good luck Miss."

Constance closed her eyes and took a few shaky breaths to steady herself, not wanting to weep and ruin all Fenella and Grizelda's efforts.

It was all up to her now. All the research, all the theories: it was up to her to put them to use. Constance didn't think that she had ever been so scared of the weight that now rested on her bare shoulders. She risked another glance in the mirror and made a mental note to thank Della once again for the loan of the dress, should she live to be able to. It was a beautiful item, red and black swirling into patterns like oil on water, splashes of beading here and there, and of course, everything where it needed to be. She reached down and touched her lower leg where she had tied the thin syringe of Ambrosia Nex to conceal it. If she had borrowed an evening bag from one of the girls, there was far more likelihood of the Devil discovering it and all her plans going to waste. Constance shivered, and not just due to the unseasonably cool evening air hitting more exposed skin than she was used to. She was honestly terrified, of both her responsibility and the actions that would lead to it, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

She picked up the vial of Mirror Potion that Davina had insisted she took with her as a possible means of communication should she find herself in need of help and within the vicinity of an unenchanted glass, again since she was taking no bag to transport a compact. She cast around for a safe place to put it before taking a deep breath and pushing into her cleavage, the only available haven. Constance folded her arms, casting fingers ready, but before she left the pseudo-safety of the school, there was someone she needed to see. She vanished from her bedroom and materialised in the corridor outside the rooms of the headmistress, knocking tentatively.

"Come in," called Davina's fluting voice. She sounded tired, thought Constance. The little singing-mistress was really too old to be getting mixed up in such things as this, and she could tell that the events of the past couple of days were taking their toll on her. She entered the room quietly, taking in Amelia's peacefully sleeping form and Davina bent over her crochet in a moment of uncharacteristic solemnity.

"Davina," Constance began, looking at the strange wool contraption that was being made under her colleague's hand, "what are you making?"

"Carrot hats," she mumbled. "There was a bit of a problem with a Thermostat Charm that the first-years cast to make Mr Blossom's greenhouse more energy efficient, I thought I'd help out a little before all the vegetables died of frostbite..." She tailed off as she looked up at Constance hovering in the doorway. "My goodness... Constance, you look beautiful."

Constance could not help herself; she blushed beneath the layer of foundation.

"Thank Fenella and Grizelda." She sighed, unwilling to leave the warmth and comfort of Amelia's room.

"You don't have to do this," Davina said, her voice pleading. "Please don't do this Constance. Amelia's getting better, she'll be right as rain soon."

"That may be, but the Void is still opening, and we still have a gateway directly to the ninth circle in the dungeons." She shuddered as she remembered Davina imparting the news. "I wish there was another way, Davina, believe me I do, but we must accept it. This is the way it has to be. Besides," she laughed weakly, wishing she could put more force behind it, wishing she could siphon some of the school's rapidly fading optimism. "I've got a trick up my sleeve."

Both witches looked at Constance's bare arms and décolletage and gave a small snort of half-hearted laughter. Davina set aside her crochet and came across the room, pausing momentarily before throwing her arms around the taller witch. Constance staggered slightly, taken aback by the suddenness of the action, but then she returned the gesture.

"Good luck," whispered Davina as they broke apart and Constance made to leave the castle. "Come back to us Constance. Cackle's just wouldn't be the same without you."

"I'll do my best."

With that, Constance folded her arms, closed her eyes, and muttered a brief prayer before vanishing from within the walls of the castle.

* * *

**Note2:** And away we go... Stay tuned!


	22. Chapter 22

**Note:** *Kimmeth pops head out of igloo... 'snowed under' with work just doesn't even cover it.* Hey folks, Kimmeth here, reporting from the front line of 'aargh, I have too much uni work' land. Here is the 22nd chapter! Enjoy, but please bear in mind whilst reading that I did find it a tad difficult to write, so be gentle!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Two**

Constance materialised in the same place that she had done the previous evening, and she wondered, with a wry smile masking her debilitating fear, whether any of the inhabitants of the capital would recognise her changed appearance. She wondered if the Devil himself would recognise her, or whether she could slip through his grasp. She shook her head as she walked towards the bridge with grim determination, keeping her eyes on the ground to avoid the perplexed faces of her fellow travellers, gawping as they were at the strange vision that was cutting through their swathes, wondering where a woman thus dressed could be bound for. There was to be no fooling the Devil.

Unlike last time, he was waiting for her on the bridge; Constance recognised his silhouette immediately, leaning casually on the railing and looking out over the city, his back to her. Everything seemed so similar to the night before that for a moment Constance thought she might be suffering from déjà vu. She stopped in her tracks, her courage failing her momentarily. Their plan, if it could be called such, involved Constance accessing a part of her psyche that she had kept suppressed for the past twenty years. She was no seductress; for two decades her contact with the opposite sex had been as minimal as possible. She had no idea how she should go about doing what she needed to do in order to find herself in a position where she could attempt to make her escape. Constance wished she had Alison by her side, watching over her shoulder and whispering lines in her ear for her to repeat as she had done so many times before in their all-too-brief friendship. Bluntly, she felt horribly alone. This was something that she had to do by herself, everyone had mutually if silently acknowledged that with varying degrees of acceptance as soon as the paraphrased contents of the terrible letter had become public. Whilst Constance never usually felt an acute need for company – after all, she had spent the majority of her life as a solitary creature – now she was desperate for a reassuring presence. The girls always held her in a fairly awed light, seeing her as a slightly alien witch who was not prey to the same humanising emotions as the rest of them, but Constance felt fear in the same way as every woman of her age and her tumultuous experience did, and at that moment, she was extremely frightened.

She was also extremely determined.

Sheer persistence and doggedness won out over fear and Constance stepped onto the bridge, making her way towards the shadowy man in the centre. He did not appear to register her approaching presence, and she managed to come to a stop a few inches away from him before he turned. The shock at her metamorphosis registered visibly in his face for a split-second before the perfectly calm, collected mask was in place once more. With a heavy feeling of irony, Constance scored herself one mental victory point.

"Well my dear," he said, surveying her with appraising eyes. "I knew you still had it in you. The deputy-headmistress has undone her laces at last." He stepped round her to get a fuller picture and Constance heard him take a sharp breath on seeing the corseted back of the dress. "But not all of them, I see." He returned to face her and quirked an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting.

"I'm here," Constance said, her voice low to keep it from trembling. "I kept the deal."

The Devil took her hand, and Constance had to stop herself jerking away. She had agreed to this. She had made the pact, the scar from which he was now tracing over with light fingertips.

"You did indeed," he said, his tone almost admiring. He looked up at her, a horribly familiar smile spreading over his face. "Shall we go somewhere a little more… private?"

Constance didn't reply. The outcome of the question would be the same; why prolong the agonising suspense? The Devil offered her his arm and she took it, however reluctantly, trying not to jump with alarm when he then swung her up into his arms to the bemused looks of passers-by.

"Close your eyes," whispered the Devil in her ear. As the bright cityscape in front of her disappeared, Constance wondered with a sudden pang of regret whether she would ever see it again. There was so much she had not done, so many things that she had deemed worthless and unnecessary that she was going to meet her doom without having experienced. Was going to the National Theatre once in her life really such a frivolous waste of time and money?

Where was her optimism? Constance shook herself mentally, not wanting the Devil to mistake the intentions of any physical action. She was going to succeed. She was going to escape. As long as she kept telling herself that, then there had to be an element of truth in it somewhere, didn't there? Constance wasn't so sure.

Suddenly they had reached their destination, the Devil telling her to open her eyes, and she took in a room that matched her dress, all shades of black and deep red, a vaulted ceiling rising high above them – a chamber truly suited to a demon. Constance took in the furnishings with a sinking heart; a four-poster bed took up the best part of the room, heavy ebony fittings and an ornate, black-framed mirror completing the candle-lit boudoir.

"Now," said the Devil, his voice deep and husky. "Where were we before your untimely intervention?"

Constance knew that he was referring to the last time that they had been in a room such as this together, and she knew that this time there was to be no fighting her way out of it until the timing was absolutely perfect. She had to go through with it for as long as possible; he could not be allowed to pre-empt her strike. She said nothing, allowing him to lay her down on the bed, closing her eyes and focussing on anything except her current uncomfortable situation. As she felt the Devil's unnaturally warm weight lower onto her, every nerve, every instinct was screaming at her to kick and run, but where could she run to? Constance had already noted that there was no door to the room, confirming her suspicion that they had not merely left London but left the sphere of life altogether, and were currently residing in an unfathomable limbo. She forced her mind elsewhere as she felt his lips smother her own, reciting the thirty-seven ingredients of Matricularis Potion in her head as she felt his hot breath becoming heavier and heavier as it moved lower, down her chin, neck, décolletage, towards her cleavage, his tongue occasionally flickering over her skin, leaving a damp trail of lust over her collar bone. Constance bit her lip to keep her from crying out in despair and fear, squeezing her eyes tight shut. She could do this. She could do this. Another minute at most. She could do this. She could not let him know the terrifying power he held over her.

Presently, his weight moved away, and Constance let out a long breath that she did not even realise she had been holding, but she did not dare to open her eyes. She felt his fingertips near her ankles, and she realised that he was taking off her stilettos. Well, it wouldn't do to get rents in the silk sheets now, would it? She gave a small yelp of ironic laughter, but the Devil was too preoccupied to notice. His touch was so light that she had barely noticed that he was disrobing her in this way, and this naturally unnerved her. She felt his hand slide up her calf past her ankle, getting fractionally closer and closer to the syringe secreted there. She shot bolt upright involuntarily, her eyes opening to take in the Devil's expression, partly amused and partly wary. She had made her first mistake and she was going to have to think quickly to cover it. Panic rose in her throat like bile, and she did the first thing that came into her head, aiming to distract him from her legs as much as possible. She leaned forward and grabbed his tie, pulling him back on top of her and crushing her mouth against his, praying that the unexpected and uncharacteristic assault would give her the upper hand, however momentarily. She needed to be in control if she was going to be able to get through this ordeal without giving herself away again; the question was whether or not the Devil would let her.

She pushed at his shoulders gently, meaning to turn their tangled bodies over so that she was free to move as she wished, and surprisingly the Devil acquiesced, sliding a hand in beneath her back and turning with her. So far, so good. The hand on her back ghosted up over her shoulder and skimmed the side of her breast before finding its way back to the laced fastening of her gown. She wanted to pull away, base instinct was bubbling up as she felt his fingers tangle in the ribbon and easily loosen the tight knot that Fenella had secured by magic. She felt the dress shift almost imperceptibly and jerked away, a hand on her chest to protect her modesty although it was not yet in danger of falling down and exposing her underwear. The Devil merely quirked an eyebrow at this sudden development and made to sit up, bringing her with him, but as they were moving, the hand still toying with the corset lacing slid surreptitiously down her back and along the length of her leg. Before Constance could stop it, his fingers had made contact with the very thing she did not want him to find.

Constance froze, pure terror flooding through her veins and locking her into position. The Devil's deep ruby eyes narrowed, and she felt his fingers melt through the fabric of her dress as they had done on the bridge, burning her skin as he made contact with her leg, pulling the syringe through the material and holding it up to the dim candle light, the contents glowing with the same hue as the eyes that watched it.

"Ambrosia Nex," he said conversationally, before giving an inhuman hiss of rage. Before she knew it, Constance was on her back once more, his weight straddling her hips and his free hand pinning her wrists above her head. She could see the flickering fire in his eyes as he leaned in close to her face, his proximity scaring her even further. She knew that she should try and fight, but she was literally paralysed with fear.

A terrible roar ripped through the air, but it did not come from the Devil. He seemed as shocked by the sudden noise as Constance was, looking around wildly for its source. It came again, this time accompanied by a tremor that shook the bedroom as if in an earthquake.

"What magic is this?" he hissed, increasing the pressure on Constance's wrists to the point of pain, bringing the tip of the syringe up to her chest, above her heavily pounding heart, resting it against her skin; if she moved an inch it would plunge into her, bringing an end to everything. She felt her already frantic pulse pick up; even in her awful circumstances, even having accepted her fate to be doomed, she still feared death as much as the next person when staring it in the demonic face.

"It's not me," she choked out, hoping that he could divine the meaning behind the strangled words. She felt twin tears leak out between her lashes and course down her cheeks, and she cursed herself for this weakness, but instead of giving the awful reaction she had anticipated, the Devil threw aside the syringe and brought his free hand up to her face, wiping away the tears as his grip on her wrists decreased slightly. He almost seemed concerned for her. A second tremor, briefer than the first but twice as violent, caused him to let go his grip completely, and he stood, breaking off all physical contact with Constance, whose painfully tense muscles relaxed for just a moment before a creaking sound with no visible foundation tore the atmosphere; causing her to stiffen anew.

"This is wrong!" yelled the Devil, but he was not speaking to her, more to the room at large. "This shouldn't be happening!" He sounded genuinely alarmed. If he was not the cause of the disturbance, then what was? Could it possibly be a rescue party? Constance dismissed that notion as an impossibility immediately, there could be no way that the Devil would allow his tracks to be followed like a wizard could follow the trail of a transported magician. She sat up, manoeuvring to the edge of the bed and placing her feet on the floor, at a better advantage to fight off anything that might be coming, not that her shaking legs would support her should she try to stand. A sudden thought flashed through her mind, the memory of the Pandora's Box myth; the research that the girls had done those few short days before.

_The evils of the box were beyond Pandora's control._

"It's the Void," she whispered, unable to make her voice reach above a breath. "You've lost control of the Void."

The Devil looked down at his fingertips and then around at the room. If the Void had been opened from this strange limbo, then it made sense that this place would be the first place to be destroyed by the renegade magic. When his eyes finally came to rest on Constance once more, all traces of devilish red were gone from them. They were deep brown, the eyes of the man she had fallen for so many years before, and they were terrified. Constance's own fear increased fourfold. They were at the mercy of the Void, not even the Devil's powers could stop their annihilation.

Constance knew she was fainting even before she felt her eyelids flutter closed. She vaguely felt warm arms catch her as she fell forward; vaguely felt those same arms sweep her up, a familiar voice muttering a spell. She vaguely felt her limp body jerk as it tried to dematerialise along with its carrier. She heard, distant through the rushing sound in her ears, a roar of frustration as the arms holding her shimmered away into the ether and she fell.

She did not feel herself hit the ground.

* * *

**Note2: ***Kimmeth goes back into her igloo.* Don't forget to review! Reviews make a work-laden Kimmeth extremely happy! (As does cake gifted to her by her housemate. Thanks Amy!)

Also, I forgot to say this last chapter as I was posting in a rush, but below is the link to the dress that inspired HB's. It is the wrong colour, but the style and design is the same. Just take out the spaces!

http:// www. eidress. com/p-strapless -evening- gown- by -joli -prom -9033-361. html


	23. Chapter 23

**Note: ***Kimmeth, still snowed under, pops up to give you the latest update.* I'm sorry, I've been rubbish at replying to reviews lately but please let it be known that I appreciate each and every one of you who takes the time to tell me what you thought, it really means a lot to me: **Princess Sammi, Sammy1257, Aleksandra Hardbroom **and **The Blue Moon Fairy**, I salute you!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Three**

Amelia was floating, drifting in a lucid, weightless limbo somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, vaguely aware of the alert world above her but just not quite able to reach it. She didn't know how long she had been in this state for, although she was not overtly worried. She was quite comfortable in her dreamlike situation; she could not quite think of a word to describe her state. Numb was the nearest she could think of, but that did not do it justice. Numb implied something heavy, anaesthetising; an unwelcome sensation. It was not that Amelia was devoid of feeling, more that she was detached from those feelings, experiencing them second-hand almost; the harsher edges of her thoughts were softened and fuzzy, like in dreams. It was as if she was thinking through cotton wool, and it was not an unpleasant sensation.

She vaguely remembered hearing Constance's voice, although whether that had been an hour or a week ago, she could not tell. She wondered idly why Constance had been in her bedroom, speculating over possible theories. She shrugged mentally; her dislocated mind having not yet returned to her body to pre-empt any physical actions. Perhaps that was all part of a deeper dream. For a moment, Amelia felt a sharp frustration, a sudden feeling, as if it had broken through the woolly barrier that was preventing her thoughts from becoming too deep. She had no idea whether she was waking up or falling asleep, or if she was hallucinating. To her the world was dark, not so much an absence of light to see by as an absence of anything to see. Panic gripped her suddenly, a feeling even more acute than the frustration had been. Instead of being leisurely satisfied in her trance-like state, accepting it for what it was, she was now fearful, questioning. What was happening? Why was it happening? Why couldn't she see anything? Had she gone blind? Where was Constance? Was she really there or was she an illusion, the product of an overactive imagination working incoherently in sleep? Was she even asleep?

"Amelia?"

The wonderfully familiar voice cut clearly through the misty haze, and Amelia calmed instantly. She was waking up, she now realised, and the voice was on the other side of the dream-world. Davina was in the room with her, for whatever reason, and Amelia knew that she had to push through the fog that was clouding her mind and dulling her senses, keeping her just under the surface, just unconscious enough not to question her surreal state. She focussed on Davina's voice, repeating her name above her, and seemed to strive onwards without the sensation of actually moving. The darkness was lightening in front of her, and Amelia felt fear and confusion anew. Was this a near-death experience? People often talked about light at the end of the tunnel...Were you meant to go towards the light or stay away from it? Either way, her mind was on its journey now, and there was nothing that she could do to stop it. Her mental surroundings seemed to take on a distinct colour now, brightening from black through to a multi-toned swirling indigo; a familiar shade. Amelia realised where she knew the colour from, remembering the darkened clouds falling over the castle that previous morning...

The memories were beyond her control, flashing snippets of the day's events to her, as if she was being shown a series of photographs in quick succession. She remembered calling the meeting, the delivery of the letter, Constance removing herself from all company. She remembered various points throughout the afternoon spent wondering if her deputy was alright. She remembered going to bed...

And then there was nothing. The memories stopped, and Amelia felt fear afresh as she glanced around her surroundings, the violently eddying indigo seeming to take on a malevolent mind of its own, taunting her, teasing her, forming vague patterns and shapes but nothing solid or tangible that she could hold onto, no matter how much she tried to reach out to the vague, smoky forms. She could still hear Davina's voice above her, but it seemed to be getting further away again. The blackberry-coloured world she inhabited was getting darker again, and her mind was getting ever-more desensitised. She was giving in to deep unconsciousness again, and the panic made her pull forwards. She couldn't go back now, not when there was a catastrophe brewing around the school. Amelia dreaded to think how long she had been asleep for, not remembering anything about the night, not remembering anything since she surrendered to an unnaturally heavy slumber until she had heard Constance's voice... She was sure that had not been part of a dream, just as she was certain that Davina was there in the waking world above her. If only she could find a way back. Something was wrong, awfully wrong, and Amelia knew that she had to get out and do something about it. She strained mentally towards Davina's fluting tones, begging for the elder witch to keep speaking to give her disorientated mind a point of reference, but how could she communicate this need to the chanting teacher? Just as she thought that she was winning the battle; the indigo brightening to first violet, then lavender, a shock snapshot, like the memories she had experienced previously, flashed before her eyes, but this was not a memory. The image was of an unfamiliar man, young and debonair, with eyes that glittered like rubies, but it vanished before Amelia could truly focus on it. It could not be a memory, she had never seen the gentleman – if he could truly be labelled such with his dangerous face – before, but it was too real, too horrifyingly real to be a dream. Another image flickered, and this time Amelia didn't even have time to distinguish the picture it showed her before it was replaced. Ice, mirrors, chains, a woman in white... It was not a dream, but what was it? She was allowed a brief moment of respite from the constantly changing images, but it was no real relief; her surroundings now roaring around her, an inhuman cry, the product of natural forces alone. She was speeding along to her destination, flying without the aid of a broomstick. Momentarily the visions began again, even more incoherent that before, this time with a clipped soundtrack: a woman screaming, a man crying, a baby mewling, someone calling her name... The next images were silent again, blessed relief from the traumatic sounds, but the pictures were so much more vivid. Amelia found herself staring at Tower Bridge, at a loss for how to explain it. The man with scarlet eyes appeared to her again, and as he faded away, he left the Devil that they had met in the ninth circle in his place. Suddenly this vision was gone, and she was staring into a mirror, but the reflection was not hers, but that of her deputy... Amelia pressed her eyes tight shut, trying to block everything out. It was too overwhelming, too much...

"Amelia!"

Amelia's eyes opened. She was back in her room, in her bed, with Davina's worried face just inches above her own. The little witch drew back instinctively as Amelia sat up, propping herself on the pillows.

"Are you... Are you alright?" asked Davina nervously, looking the headmistress up and down with intense, if fearful, scrutiny.

"Yes..." Amelia was about to add 'why shouldn't I be?' when she remembered the black void of memory that had begun when she had gone to bed. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Almost two days," replied Davina shakily. "It's Saturday evening. Do you... do you not remember anything?"

Amelia shook her head, feeling the fear rising in the back of her throat.

"What happened?" she managed to choke out.

"You were ill," whispered Davina. "We thought you weren't going to come back."

Amelia blinked slowly. She had been out of the loop for nearly forty-eight hours, who knew what could have happened during that time, the sinister forces threatening the school...

"The Devil," she began, and Davina nodded grimly.

"He was the cause of your sickness," she said, and her voice cracked. There was something more to the tale, something far more terrible.

"Davina," said Amelia firmly, respecting her friend's delicate nature but also desperately needing to know what had gone on in her absence. "Davina, what happened?"

"Constance," breathed Davina, her quiet distress obvious in her contorted face. "He caused your illness to gain sway over Constance. She went to meet him last night, to intervene on your behalf." She paused. "You've been recuperating all day."

Amelia was silent, still digesting the terrible meaning of the words. She had been used as a pawn; the Devil had employed her, against her knowledge, to get to her deputy. If only she had exerted more pressure on Constance before; if only she had known what terrible secret history the two had shared. Deep down though, Amelia knew that it would have made scant difference; if the Devil was involved then there would still have been no benefit for betraying Constance's faith and trust in her. She remembered hearing Constance's voice towards the end of her unconscious period.

"Where is she?" she asked, getting out of bed and pulling on a dressing-gown over her nightdress, ignoring Davina's attempts to get her to remain in bed on account of her previous ailment. "Where's Constance? I need to speak to her."

Davina did not reply.

"Davina," Amelia coaxed, realising how brusque her tone must have sounded. "I heard her, as I was waking up. She was in here."

"That was two hours ago, Amelia," said Davina. "She... She came in to say goodbye."

The only sound in the room was Davina's muffled sobs. Amelia returned to her bed, sitting on the edge of it heavily, her eyes unseeing as they stared around the dimly lit chamber, Davina's terrible sentence replaying itself over and over in her head; six small words having such a devastating meaning.

_She came in to say goodbye._

"What do you mean?" she asked the singing-mistress, her voice raspy and strangled with emotion.

"It was a requisite, in return for your health," spluttered Davina.

Amelia knew what had happened, and ice flooded through her veins, freezing her in position, her hands gripping the bed frame so tightly she was sure that the knuckles were going to burst through the taut white skin. In exchange for curing her, the Devil had asked for Constance.

"Tell me she didn't, Davina, please."

Davina nodded, her shaky tears dripping off the end of her nose and onto her lap. She pulled out a ratty, greying handkerchief and blew her nose noisily, and Amelia looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep some semblance of control over her own emotions.

"But it's alright," said Davina eventually, having recomposed herself slightly. "The girls, they had a theory; a way to kill the Devil, or harm him at least, she can escape."

That was all Amelia needed to hear. As feeble as the hope was, it was a hope nonetheless, something that she could cling onto. Constance had not gone without a plan. Not that her deputy would ever do anything without having a carefully-considered plan, of course, but now Amelia knew that there was a chance, and she was willing to do everything in her power to help that chance come into fruition.

"What's the time, Davina?" she asked.

"Ten o'clock. Why?"

"Today is Saturday. Today is graduation day. We've got two hours."

"Surely not," said Davina. "You can't keep up graduation, not with everything that's happening."

"Davina, graduation will be going ahead, and we will all be present, Constance included."

Amelia made a pass in front of her with her hand, her night attire instantly metamorphosing into suitable clothing for broomstick flying. She suddenly understood the relevance of the so-lifelike representation of Tower Bridge that her subconscious had presented her with. That was where Constance had gone, and it was where Amelia would go to assist her, or to find the next piece of the puzzle at least. Things were beginning to make a grim, logical sense in her scattered thoughts. Whilst she had been suffering under her demonically-generated illness, Amelia reasoned, reaching for her broomstick and hat, the Devil, or something of his influence, had taken up residence in her body to provide fuel for the disease. As she had woken, battling against the odds to drag herself into the land of the living, so the influence had left her, but not before her semi-conscious mind had received an insight into the Devil's own near-omniscient thoughts. The idea alone was enough to make her knees buckle in horror and revulsion, to think that she had been so closely linked to such a diabolical creature...

"Amelia!" Davina's voice was alarmed as she noticed her superior's sudden sway. "Are you..."

Davina never finished her sentence, for at that moment both women caught a glimpse of the night sky through the open window. Davina's mouth hung open, unable to articulate coherent speech.

"What in the name of..." Words failed Amelia as well as she stared out at the flashing, swirling indigo storm clouds that had mustered on the horizon, slowly moving towards the castle, seeming to envelop everything in their path, a phenomenon on an unprecedented scale.

"It's the Void," said Davina faintly, the first of them to speak after a few minutes of fraught silence. "It's out of control."

* * *

**Note2: **The contents of Amelia'a strange dream... Don't ask questions, all will be revealed in due course!

**Next time** on** Pandora's Box:** Magic, mirrors, and magical mirrors....


	24. Chapter 24

**Note:** Here we are again, and you will notice that for once I am not reporting from the front line of an igloo! Yes, Kimmeth finally has her workload under control: miraculous!

Please enjoy the latest chapter! And, as usual, please leave your comments on a postcard!  


* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Four**

When Constance woke, it took her a few moments to remember where she was, an unearthly tremor rumbling through the floor beneath her serving as a jolting and instant reminder. She was trapped in the Devil's realm, with no feasible means of escape. She carefully worked her way into a sitting position, her head still groggy from her faint, and, crossing her arms, she tried to disappear, but she knew it would be to no avail. If the Devil himself, with all his demonic power, had not been able to pull her through whatever mythical barrier had protected his abode, then there was no way that she would be able to do it on her own. She rested her forehead against her palm, focussing on keeping her breathing even and thinking logically. Presently something shining caught her eye, and an idea came to her, her heart giving a brief skip as she thought she might have found a possible life-line.

Her surroundings shuddered once more as she gingerly got to her feet and took a few tentative steps towards the centre of the room, the way the walls were distorting serving only to disorientate her. If she could just make it to the mirror, then there was the slim chance that she might be able to get help. Taking each step one at a time and ignoring the feeling of seasickness that swam round her head as the floor seemed to tilt and buckle under her feet, she finally made it to the wall with the ornate cheval mirror resting against it, its carved gargoyles and animals leering at her mockingly as they watched her plight. The figures seemed strangely familiar, although she could not place quite where she had seen them before, or if it was merely a trick of her imagination; desperate as she was, anything that she recognised would provide some comfort in her terrible situation.

She grasped the top of the mirror frame with one hand, leaning heavily to steady herself, she drew her fingertips across its surface, praying to see the faint blue shimmer trail along behind them, although she knew it was asking for an awful lot that the mirror might already be enchanted. Still, she thought, trying to remain optimistic as the roaring in her ears became ever louder, at least she had come prepared. She reached into her bra and withdrew the small vial of sparkling sapphire liquid, the first step to enchanting a mirror onto the magical network. She made to ease out the tight stopper but before she could do so, a more violent tremor caused her to lose her balance, sending her flat on her face, hands only just managing to break her fall before her nose smashed into the hard, ebony parquet floor. The vial rolled away from her, out of sight into the shadows, and Constance could feel panic rising in the back of her throat. By now the walls were shaking so violently that she was afraid they would cleave and crumble around her, burying her alive in the wreckage of the Devil's domain. A reflection of light caught her eye in the mirror, and she turned to see the glass bottle under a chair in one corner. It seemed to be wedged in place, unmoving as the room itself swayed and shuddered with the swirling forces that surrounded it. Constance breathed a sigh of relief and edged forwards on her hands and knees, dreading to think what she might be doing to Della's beautiful dress. Finally she was close enough to reach out under the chair, and her stomach gave a violent jolt just as her fingertips gained purchase on the vial, snatching it up into the palm of her hand. Using the chair for leverage, she pulled herself to her feet and waited for the walls to stop swimming before she pattered quickly back to the mirror, wrenched the cork from the miniature bottle and threw the potion over the looking-glass. As it ran thickly down the surface, she scrawled the words of the spell into the rivulets and watched them disappear into the liquid. Only the final stage remained. She had to break the glass and allow the potion to seep into it before it all ran off the bottom edge. She could already see it pooling there, the ornate frame holding it in place, and she looked around wildly for an object that she could use to smash it. There was nothing heavy enough in the immediate vicinity, and her shoes were over in the opposite corner. She was running out of time. Closing her eyes, she curled the fingers of her right hand into a fist and brought it down against the glass as hard as she could, once, twice, three times. The sharp pain in her knuckles told her that she had succeeded, and she felt warm blood mixing with the cold smears of the potion on her hand. She opened her eyes, pointedly ignoring her injury and watching as the mirror splintered into pieces, absorbing the potion and the spell and piecing itself back together again as it did so. It was almost complete, her lifeline was almost ready, but the process stopped suddenly, the potion still sparkling on the surface in one area in the centre of the glass.

Constance bit her lip as she realised what was wrong and looked down at her fist, spotting the tiny sliver of glass embedded in her wound. She took a deep breath and tugged it out sharply, closing her eyes against the tears of pain that formed with the action. She wiped her eyes with her good hand, not wanting to alarm whoever she might contact with smears of blood all over her face, and worked the tiny piece of glass into its position. Immediately, the potion absorbed fully and the mirror glowed silver for a few moments before returning to its usual appearance just as the room creaked its loudest and a crack began to appear in the wall to her left. Constance once more trailed her fingers across the surface, the shimmer glowing brighter than she had ever seen before. She managed a wry smile as she breathed on the glass and scrawled a name in the mist, watching her reflection fade. The efficacy of the communication had obviously been increased by the addition of her magical blood.

"Miss Hardbroom!" Mildred's face appeared in the mirror, her eyes wild. The girl was obviously petrified, and a small part of Constance felt guilty at dragging Mildred into her own perilous situation. "Where are you? Mr Rowan-Webb followed you as far as the bridge but then he said the trail stopped. Are you alright, Miss?"

"I'm..." Constance skirted the question, unwilling to let on to her terrified pupil just how scared she was herself. "Mildred, something's gone wrong..."

"I know!" exclaimed Mildred. "The Void's gone haywire! We don't know what to do! We don't know how to stop it!"

Constance bit her lip. She was in no better position than those on 'the other side'; perhaps at even more of a disadvantage now that her source of knowledge had vanished, leaving her to her fate in the rapidly disintegrating limbo. A crash behind her made her start and turn, and Constance heard Mildred give the shriek that her own mute fear would not allow. A corner of the room had fallen away where several fissions had joined up, revealing a violently eddying indigo mist on the outside, trying to pass through an invisible barrier that was only just managing to hold out against it. Constance realised, her heart pounding in her ears, that she was on the very edge of the Void, protected from its terrible effects by nothing more than a rapidly weakening layer of demonic magic. She turned back to the mirror to see tears welling in Mildred's eyes as the girl opened her mouth to speak but was unable to find the voice to do so, her lips moving without making sound.

"Mildred, it'll be alright," she assured, desperate to help the younger witch pull it together and keep going. Even if this was the end of the line for Constance, the others in the living world could continue without her. If only she knew what to say; if only she knew what the rest of the school could do to stop the progression of the Void's power, but she did not. She rested her hand on the glass, wanting to reach through and take Mildred's shoulder in a friendly grip, give her something solid to cling onto, but all she felt was cold glass beneath her fingertips. Mildred, however, seemed to take a physical step back, no easy feat when she was, Constance knew, holding the compact out in front of her.

"Miss, your hand…" she began, her voice tremulous. "It's disappeared."

Constance pulled her hand away from the mirror and looked at it. It was slick with water, and only now did it occur to her that the mirror was the only cold surface in the room, everything else having an unnatural heat to it. She looked at the glass again to see a faint rivulet of water running down from where her hand had been pressed against it, and suddenly came to her. The mirror was not made of glass, but of…

"Ice," she breathed. "Mildred, this mirror is made of ice."

Mildred nodded nervously before speaking again.

"That doesn't explain how come your hand disappeared when you touched it though."

The final word became a squeak as there was another ominous creak from the wall directly behind Constance, and she resisted the urge to turn around a view the damage, focussing instead on the conundrum that had now been presented to her. Something told her that this latest piece of the puzzle was relevant in some way, but she could not think how. A quote from a film came back to her. The memory was fuzzy, but she remembered Alison and the other girls virtually pinning her to the sofa and making her watch it in their first week at Weirdsister.

_He was imprisoned in an icy fortress, and so the Devil gave him wings. _

And how had the protagonists reached the icy fortress?

Through a mirror.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Travelling through mirrors was not so uncommon an occurrence. Her personal feelings towards Lewis Carroll notwithstanding, one could not deny the title of 'Alice through the Looking-Glass'. A mirror made from ice; the Devil's domain… It all fitted. What if this was her way out? What if all she had to do was step through the mirror? She pressed her other hand against the silvered facade, much to Mildred's agitation, and waited for the cold surface to shift under her fingers as it melted. Slowly, her fingertips vanished into the ice, and she pulled them away quickly.

"Miss…" Mildred began.

"Mildred, I think this is my way out," she said. "I think the ice is my way out." The only worry now was where she was going to end up, but Constance did not give voice to that concern. She looked Mildred in the eye. "Trust me."

Mildred nodded, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, before her face faded out of view and Constance was left looking at her own reflection. She didn't blame the younger witch; watching her deputy-headmistress vanish eerily slowly before her eyes would be a disconcerting experience by anyone's standards.

As the room shook once more, Constance took a deep breath, knowing that it was now or never. She put both hands in front of her and pressed down hard on the mirror surface, feeling it gradually begin to melt beneath the warmth of her skin. She could feel nothing on the other side, no indication of where she was going to emerge.

Constance closed her eyes and stepped through the mirror fully as the magical defences around the room finally caved in and the roaring wind from the Void began to whistle through her hair.

On the other side, once she had passed through the freezing barrier that separated one world from the next, Constance felt a warm, smooth surface beneath her bare feet, and she opened her eyes to see pale, polished floorboards in a familiar hew. She looked around at her surroundings and gave an involuntary exclamation of both astonishment and relief. There was a reason why the mirror in the Devil's room had seemed so familiar, and that was because she had just stepped through its sister, an opposite in many ways but a twin in others: an antique cheval in white wood, rather than ebony, decorated in the same delicately carved pattern but with angels and fairies taking the place of the demons and monsters.

Constance had stepped into Della's house.


	25. Chapter 25

**Note:** Ah, updating in a hurry is never a good thing for me as I'll invariably miss something in the proofing process, but I don't have very much time tonight as I'm taking myself to the theatre to see **Women of Troy**! Albeit not with KD, but still, I can imagine! I'm so excited! And I am going home for the weekend tomorrow, so I'm excited about that too! Enjoy the chapter!  


* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Five**

Mildred closed the compact mirror, letting it rest in the palm of her hand. It was such a small, seemingly insignificant item, and yet the power it wielded was extraordinary. Not magical power per se, but the power to control Mildred's emotions. Thanks to the brief conversation she had just shared with her form-mistress, her heart was pounding in her mouth and adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She was scared, and although the older witch had tried to hide it, Mildred could tell that she was afraid as well. Who wouldn't be, in such a position? Once again, Mildred found herself thinking of Miss Hardbroom's headstrong courage in the face of such adversity, a courage that she wished she could share, but she simply was not ready to. She had not been able to watch, she'd had to break off the conversation before she had seen her potions teacher disappear, for fear of witnessing a terrible event. Part of her felt terrible for abandoning the other woman, the one of them who ostensibly needed the moral support, but she knew that had something untoward had happened, she simply would not have been able to cope. She was only seventeen, she reasoned, and whilst she was going to have to grow up when she went to Weirdsister in the autumn, there was a limit to how much she could mature in the space of a few short days. She had already had to face up to some very uncomfortable truths since the catastrophic chain of events surrounding the opening of the Void had begun, and she was not sure how much more her mind could take.

She looked up from the small metallic circle and directly into yet another mirror, this one unenchanted – the mirror on her bedroom wall. A petrified young woman, eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears and fear stared back out at her, appraising the long graduation robes that she had donned just a few moments before. No-one knew if graduation was even going ahead in the tenuous circumstances, but Mildred had not yet had the chance to wear the ceremonial gown, and perhaps an unconscious part of her had had the grim thought that she wanted to be able to say that she had worn it once before she met with her doom at the hands of the Devil. She shook her head, and her reflection mimicked her. The image seemed wrong, something missing, and it wasn't the mortarboard that was still hanging on her wardrobe. This was not the way she had pictured herself looking at the moment she qualified. Her smile was missing. Without it, she was simply a scared little girl wondering what was going on elsewhere in the world, wondering whether she would ever see her form-mistress again, wondering whether she would ever see her headmistress again, wondering if she would ever see her family again. The plaits weren't helping, so Mildred pulled them out, combing through her wavy tresses with her fingers, but this served only to make her seem bedraggled, overwhelmed with emotion.

Suddenly there was the sound of running footsteps outside her door and someone knocked frantically. Fresh fear bubbled up at the back of her throat as she called out to the perpetrator.

"Come in."

The door opened and Miss Drill's face appeared around the frame.

"Mildred," she panted. "You've got to come, it's Miss Hardbroom."

"What's happened?" asked Mildred, all manner of doomsday scenarios running through her imagination as she followed the PE teacher through the corridors of the school towards the staffroom, each one more frightful than the last. She had a vision of the potions-mistress lifeless on the staffroom floor having managed to come through the ice mirror at terrible expense, and she could not hide her sigh of relief when Miss Drill's next words proved her prophecy wrong.

"She's… the staffroom mirror," said the teacher, and Mildred's racing heart became a little slower as she wondered over Miss Drill's lack of preposition. Would one say that a witch was in a mirror? Or on it, like on the phone? "She asked me to come and get you."

"Is she ok?"

"She seems a little shaken, but fine otherwise."

Mildred managed a small smile, only Miss Hardbroom could come through an ice mirror and out the other side with her composure intact. By this time they had reached the staffroom and Mildred rushed in with no pre-empting. There in the mirror, most definitely alive and unruffled, was Miss Hardbroom.

"You're alright!" Mildred exclaimed. "You came through the mirror! It worked!"

"Yes, it did, but there's a small problem. Mildred…"

Mildred had already guessed at the flaw that might be hindering them at that moment, and she didn't know why she had not thought of it before.

"Where are you?" she asked, interrupting her teacher for what was possibly the first time in her time at the school. "Where did the mirror come out?" The panic rose in her throat once more; what if Miss Hardbroom had found herself trapped in just another strange limbo realm, unable to return to either the crumbling world of the Devil or the living world?

"I'm in Della's house," said Miss Hardbroom, almost airily. "Mildred…"

"Della's house?" Mildred repeated. "How… why?"

"I don't know!" By now the teacher's voice was showing signs of exasperation. "Mildred, that's not the most worrying thing on my mind right now!"

Mildred felt her head spin as Miss Hardbroom flipped the cheval mirror that she was speaking through over and she found herself staring through a window at the purple swirling vortex of the Void, the same that she had seen in the dungeons when she, Miss Drill and the Chief Wizard had found the terrible source of the rumbles shaking the castle. This time, however, it was more powerful by tenfold, the eddying clouds seeming to move with a frenzied speed and a life of their own. Sparks of raw, golden magic shot through them like forked lightening across storm clouds, each bolt crackling like thunder that Mildred could hear even through the mirror. This was not a portal, a manifestation; this was the real thing, the gaping maw of the Void, waiting to swallow up everything in its path. Mildred's stomach churned again, not solely due to the sudden flipping motion of the image bringing her back face to face with Miss Hardbroom.

"The Void," she choked. The teacher nodded.

"Mildred, I need your help. The Void needs to be closed, it's getting closer and it will simply absorb everything in its way if we let it continue."

"How do you close the Void?" Mildred asked, aware of how her voice was rising to a shout to match her form-mistress's yelling over the noise of the vortex in the distance.

"I don't know, that's the main problem. But there's another thing. Mildred, I can't use my magic."

Mildred's veins turned to ice.

"What?" she asked, taking a step back. If Miss Hardbroom was devoid of her intensely powerful magic for whatever reason, then their fight against the Void was as good as over. She was unconsciously acknowledged by all as the school's definitive combatant, be the spells offensive or defensive, and if she was unable to protect them from the terrors of the Void then who could? Mildred was sure that she would not be able to take up the mantle, and she wondered why Miss Hardbroom had asked for her assistance.

"I think it's because I'm so close to the Void, it's blocking me from casting."

Mildred saw a faint shimmer glow around the deputy-head's silhouette for a second before vanishing as the witch obviously tried to disappear and transport herself back to the castle in that way.

"Nothing I do is working Mildred. If I can get far enough away from the Void then perhaps we stand a chance."

Mildred realised what her teacher was asking her to do and nodded to the request that had not been made, making a pass over the mirror and returning it to its original state with a muttered spell before running from the room.

"Where are you going?" asked Miss Drill, following on after her. "Mildred, it's not safe out there!"

"I'm going to get Miss Hardbroom!" Mildred called back after her. If magical spells could not work as a means of transport, then perhaps a broomstick would. After all, like the mirror, it was already enchanted and inherently magical; no spell or potion was required to activate its power. Her only problem was time. It took at least half an hour to fly to the town from the castle, and Mildred suspected that the adverse flying conditions created by the freak winds and clouds from the Void would only serve to increase the duration of her journey at a point where time was of the essence. There was, however, a ray of hope. Mildred cast a spell to summon her broom from the shed outside, and it sped through the thankfully empty corridors of the school and into her hand as she rapped frantically on Enid's door. Her friend, also attired in her graduation gown, opened it, a perplexed look spreading over her features.

"Millie?" she began, but Mildred cut her off.

"I need you to turbo-charge my broom," she said. "It's an emergency," she added on seeing Enid raise her eyebrows. "I have to save Miss Hardbroom from being eaten by the Void."

"Right." Enid said nothing more in response, and Mildred couldn't blame her, the sentence was quite something to digest. She went back into her room and Mildred followed. During the last few weeks of term, Enid had been working on a series of potions and spells designed to 'bend the rules' slightly, and making broomsticks travel faster was one of the, in her words, more successful things. Mildred had yet to experience the effects, despite Enid assuring her that they were perfectly safe. The smaller girl rummaged around in her chest of drawers before coming up triumphant with a small bottle of a livid green potion, which she proceeded to sprinkle liberally over the brush of Mildred's broomstick, waiting for it to soak in before handing it back to its owner.

"All you have to do is lean forward," she said. "Then the potion will do its stuff."

Mildred thanked her friend, who yelled 'good luck' down the corridor after her as she set off for the main doors at a run. She'd barely registered leaving the ground before she was over the castle boundaries and, swallowing all her previous misgivings about Enid's magical capability when it came to experimental potions, she leaned her broom forward slightly.

It took off like a cat with a singed tail; Mildred had never travelled so fast in her life before, and as the trees faded to blurs beneath her, she realised with a jolt that Enid had not told her how to stop. Angling the nose of the broom towards the ground merely caused her to go into a dive without losing speed and Mildred had to pull up sharply before she ploughed into the ground. Within five minutes she was over the town, almost level with the jaws of the Void…

Suddenly Mildred did not have to worry about stopping the effects of the potion as her broom screeched to a halt of its own accord before spiralling dramatically out of the sky. Her theorising about the effects of the Void on already magical objects was proved spectacularly wrong as she tumbled through the air, and she remembered with a jolting heart the briefest moment of static interference that had ghosted across the mirror as she had broken off the contact. Magical implements were just as susceptible within the Void's sphere of influence as magicians themselves. Mildred tried her hardest to maintain some form of control as she descended in free fall, finally coming into land on the street, stumbling and grazing her knees and palms as she did so. She got to her feet, staggering slightly, and looked around at her surroundings, giving a muted moan on realising that she was completely lost, in a part of the town that she had never seen before. She shook herself crossly and began to run in the direction opposite to the one that the ominous sounds of the Void were coming from. There was no time to lose, but as she careered down unfamiliar street after unfamiliar street with a stitch beginning to bite at her side, panic started to creep through her thoughts. She paused, hunching over to get her breath back, the dark, empty roads filling her with a previously unrecognised dread, both of the Void itself and any mysterious unknowns that might be lurking in the shadows.

"Mildred!"

Mildred had never been so glad to hear Miss Hardbroom's voice, and she looked up to see her teacher running towards her from a side street.

"Miss," Mildred began, but she was panting too much to continue.

"Mildred, we've got to move!" exclaimed Miss Hardbroom as she reached her pupil, pausing only momentarily to help her upright again before taking her wrist in one hand and holding up a bunch of red silk skirt in the other to enable her to run. Mildred, marvelling at how the older woman could be so fleet of foot when running over hard asphalt with no shoes on, allowed herself to be dragged along for a few moments before a rushing sound caused her to look behind her and see just what they were running from so frantically.

The Void was upon them, moving slowly down the street, causing the windows of the houses on either side to explode as it passed between them, bearing down upon the running figures faster and faster until Mildred felt glass fragments shower down into her hair. She looked from side to side for an exit, an escape route, but there was nowhere to hide. Their only salvation would be to reach the end of the road.

Mildred prayed that they could reach it in time.

* * *

**Note2: **Dun dun dun! Stay tuned, folks! And don't forget to review!


	26. Chapter 26

**Note:** I'm going home for the weekend this weekend, so I won't be posting tomorrow. So, you lucky, lucky people, you're getting Friday and Saturday's chapters both in one go today! Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box **

**Twenty-Six**

Lying in her bed in her mother's house, the house of her childhood, Della was drifting along in a semi-doze, joining up patterns in the glow-in-the-dark stars that spangled across the ceiling. She'd first insisted upon their installation at the tender age of seven, and they had never been removed since, although what had begun as a veritable plastic crab nebula had since dwindled over the years to a slightly more modest milky way.

Presently a noise outside jerked her into full alertness, making her sit up and curse the effect that the sudden movement had on her aching head. She swilled down a couple of paracetamol with some water from her bedside table and, more sedately, crept over to the window to see what was going on, at first dismissing it as drunken Saturday night revellers knocking over a dustbin. As soon as she peered around the curtains though, the sky caught her attention, illuminated by the soft orange glow of the street light outside the house. It was swirling, lightning occasionally sparking, and it was a murky colour that she knew would be purple if the fluorescence of the street light was absent. This was more than the brief periods of strange weather that had interspersed the previous two days. This was something far more deadly.

"Bloody hell," she whispered to herself. "Cripes…"

Della thought of Constance's sacrifice to the Devil to save them from the Void. Something must have gone horribly wrong. This could not be the intended outcome of the liaison, surely. She pulled the compact mirror from her handbag and opened it, scrawling Constance's name into the mist, but there was no reply, instead just a burst of static, like when the aerial cable became disconnected from the TV. The white noise faded after a few seconds and she remained staring at her own reflection: wide, pale eyes with dark circles of tiredness forming underneath and an off-white bandage round her head. She tried Mildred, but there was again simply static and no response. Della was out of possible contacts, and she wondered why the mirror was not working, casting a glance askance at the window with the dark storm clouds beyond, answering her unvoiced question for herself.

Another sound from outside caused her to drop the compact and return to the window, throwing open the thin voiles completely to stare out into the back garden, her mouth dropping open at what she saw.

"Cripes," Della repeated, and she was shocked into stillness for a few moments before she abruptly galvanised herself into action, pulling on her dressing gown over her polka-dot print nightdress and snatching up the Legendarae from under her bed where she had dropped off to sleep whilst trying to read it earlier on in the evening. Shoving her feet roughly into her shoes she raced out of her room and along the landing, pausing to check up on her mother, although she knew that Caroline could sleep through anything and everything, her snores drowning out all other suspicious noises from outside. Sure enough, she was still sleeping soundly and Della closed the bedroom door and took the stairs two at a time before scraping the deadbolts on the back door across, throwing it open and stepping out into the garden…

XXX

Constance had never before given much thought to the non-magician's theory of the adrenaline rush, but there could be no doubt that was what she was experiencing. As soon as she had felt the light pressure of shattered window panes nestling into her tangled hair, she had found a sudden surge of speed and strength, pulling Mildred along, determined to beat the Void to the end of the road. Her feet were numb, and whilst she was aware that she was running barefoot over splinters of glass and stones, she couldn't feel it. All she could feel was the unnatural wind blowing at her back, and her heart pounding painfully quickly in her chest.

Finally they reached the end of the road and Constance went left, doubling back on herself and diving down an alleyway, the gardens of the houses backing onto it. The persistent, lingering smell of rotting cabbage told her that this was where the neighbourhood rubbish was collected from, and she wrinkled her nose against the smell, trying not to think of her no-doubt grazed feet pattering over the cold ground. She tried all of the garden gates as she went past, Mildred breaking free of her vice-like clasp to do the same. They needed a place where they could stop running and perhaps test their magic, but Constance doubted that they were far enough away to have any effect. At that point in time, random trespassing into someone's private garden seemed like a more favourable option when faced with the alternative of falling victim to the rampaging Void, and she was working on the principle that most of the homeowners would be more concerned with the 'freak summer storm' destroying their windows than with two strangely dressed women running for their lives.

At last, they came upon an unlocked gate and stumbled through it, the dew-damp grass prickly under Constance's soles. Satisfied that they were, for the moment at least, out of harm's way, she stumbled and sat down heavily on the grass to get her breath back; not wanting to see the state of her feet she rested her head in her hands, taking deep breaths and trying to give rational order to her scattered thoughts. If only they had a clue, however tenuous, as to how to close the Void. She heard Mildred's sharp intake of breath and out of the corner of her eye she saw the younger witch freeze beside her. Constance looked up and reacted in the same way, her muscles locking down, fear and revulsion fighting for dominance as she saw in horror that they were not alone in the garden.

"Connie!" The Devil seemed genuinely pleased to see her, stepping out of the shadows towards them. Constance was unable to move. "You're alright! You got out!"

Panic and anger were biting at Constance's nerves, and she prayed that her thunderous expression would be enough to warn the demon not to come any closer. Whilst his magic obviously still worked in the vicinity to the Void, she hoped that he would think that hers did too and she could look threatening enough to ward him off, although she knew the chance was slim. She had never been able to overwhelm him in that sense.

"No thanks to you!" snarled Mildred beside her, and Constance felt extremely grateful for both the interruption, allowing her to gather her thoughts, and the sheer vehemence with which it was delivered.

"I tried!" The Devil seemed affronted, and Constance, the memory fuzzy, had to concede it to him. He had tried, and he had failed. For a few moments she found herself wondering, trying to figure out why he would be so concerned for her life and welfare as to attempt to save her from the disintegrating limbo, however unsuccessful his attempts might have been. She shook the thoughts out of her head; for all his twisted chivalry, the Devil was still a chaotic demon, unfathomable and extremely dangerous. She could not let herself forget the reason why they were in this terrifying situation in the first place, and this thought sent hatred anew spiralling through her veins, providing her with the momentum she needed to stand and meet the Devil face to face, on her own terms.

"You got us into this trap," she said, her voice barely above a low hiss. "If you hadn't opened the Void we would not be in this position. So you can be the one to get us out."

"Connie…"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped. As young and petrified as Mildred was, her presence gave Constance the hope and fire she needed in confrontation that she had lacked before. Now she was not just fighting for herself, but for one of her young charges, and that released the closest thing to a maternal instinct that Constance knew she would ever have. It was as if a red mist had descended. Suddenly her fear had gone, now that she had Mildred feeling the emotion in her place, and it had been replaced with pure rage.

"Constance," the Devil corrected, dropping the honeyed tones from his voice. "You said yourself that I had lost control of the Void, and with your expertise and intelligence, you are usually correct. This situation is no exception."

"Then you can tell us how to close it," said Constance through gritted teeth. "You opened it, surely you know how to close it."

The Devil was silent. Constance could tell that he knew from the expression in his flickering scarlet eyes, but something was preventing him from telling them. Was it because it was his own destruction that was the key? She mentally cursed herself for not having brought the syringe of Ambrosia Nex through the mirror with her, but at the time of her escape, when her thoughts had been rightly focussed elsewhere, the prospect of her needing it again had not crossed her mind. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to see him melt before her eyes under the effects of the fated needle.

"A magician must surrender their magic to the Void," he said eventually. "A magician must enter the Void and willingly offer up their magic. Such an occurrence will close the Void."

"With the magician still on the inside," Mildred breathed.

The Devil nodded, although Constance was sure that Mildred had not intended him to hear her aside. She narrowed her eyes and looked at the Devil with a pointed glare. She could not detect untruth in his words or countenance, but she already knew just how difficult to predict the creature could be.

"I don't believe you," she said plainly.

"Why not?" There was no accusation in his words; his question was a genuine query.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Constance snapped, feeling the roaring of the Void coming ever closer, rumbling its way into the street beyond the dark house in whose garden they stood. She did not have time to get drawn into a moralistic debate. "You're the Devil. You're the patron of those who cheat and lie!"

"But you are forgetting, Constance, that I have as much to lose as you. If the Void consumes the world, then it consumes everything affiliated and linked to it as well. My true form in the ninth circle would cease to exist just as you will here."

There was an involuntary gasp from the direction of the house and Constance spun round to see Della standing there in her nightwear, the Legendarae held limply in one hand, watching the scene unfold. She wondered how long she had been standing there, witness to the revelations that had taken place, a spectre in a navy-blue velour dressing-gown. The Devil had also noticed her presence, and for a moment the sadistic taint returned to the planes of his face as he smiled.

"Well well, the battered bookshop owner." He went to move towards her, and Constance was sure that she had never felt so incensed in her life.

"Get away from her!" she snarled, casting a spell before realising how useless the action was. Truly, the Devil was the only one with any semblance of power out of the group, but nevertheless, he stopped dead in his tracks on hearing the venom in her voice. Out of the corner of her eye Constance saw Mildred edge around her and creep towards the doorway and Della, and she gave a slight nod of acquiescence. Mildred sprinted, leaving Constance and the Devil standing in the centre of the garden, both poised on the defensive, although Constance knew that any magical combat would be completely one-sided. She watched as Mildred reached Della and the non-magician seemed to slump in relief before flipping open the Legendarae and frantically searching its pages. The irony that they should have ended up in Della's presence once more after they had tried to keep her firmly out of the way was not lost on Constance, but before she could wonder at the circular nature of their situation for any length of time she turned her attention back to the Devil. Could she really take him at his word? Was a wilful surrender to the Void the only way to prevent the oncoming tragedy?

She was prevented from contemplating any further by someone calling her name.

"Constance!"

The voice was coming from the front of the house, and it was so wonderfully familiar that Constance gave an exclamation of relief and astonishment.

"Constance!"

The voice belonged to Amelia.


	27. Chapter 27

**Note:** And now for the second part of today's double-bill. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Seven**

As soon as Mildred heard Miss Cackle's voice, she felt her sinking heart suddenly soar back up to her chest. The headmistress was not only alive and awake but there with them, alert and capable; although obviously her magic would be suffering due to their proximity to the Void. Della looked up from the book that she was scanning through seemingly haphazardly but with a twisted kind of order that Mildred recognised.

"Amelia?" she asked softly, before jumping up from her position seated on the backdoor step and rushing into the house. Mildred cast a glance back at the Devil and Miss Hardbroom, both stood in a typical defensive half-crouch, both focussed on the voice of their latest arrival rather than each other. She saw Miss Hardbroom's silhouette shimmer as she tried in vain to reach Miss Cackle on the other side of the house before she gave up, breaking eye-contact with the Devil and running towards the back door. Mildred moved inside the dark house just in time to prevent herself being mown down by her careening form-mistress and followed Della through the ground floor until they reached the front door. The young non-witch was fumbling with the chains and deadbolts, hands slipping in her still-sleepy state and engendering numerous muttered curses. Finally she threw open the heavy oak door and Mildred and Miss Hardbroom rushed out into the street, leaving their unwitting host standing in the doorway watching the action unfold as she had done in the garden. As they reached the headmistress, a black shimmer caught the corner of Mildred's eye and she realised that the Devil had followed them with his still functioning magic.

"Amelia!" Miss Hardbroom reached the headmistress first, throwing her arms around the shorter witch in an unthinking display of jubilance before coming to her senses and pulling her into the meagre safety that the shadow of the house offered against the rumbling of the Void. Mildred noted the broomstick in Miss Cackle's hand, obviously she had encountered the same problem as Mildred but had managed to land in a slightly more sedate manner.

It was then that the cataclysm occurred. The windows of the houses in the street, thus far unharmed by the ever-advancing Void, exploded in a terrific shower of glass, causing burglar alarms to begin screeching and the residents of the street to wake and stare out of the shattered panes, shouts of awe and fear resounding along the road as the non-magicians came face to face with the pulsating vortex of magic. Mildred could see people calling the police, the fire-brigade, the army; no-one quite knew what to do in response and she couldn't blame them, she didn't know herself and she was horribly aware of what the Void was and what it could do.

There was a scream from inside the house and Mildred looked up to see a middle-aged woman staring out of what had once been her front bedroom window, open-mouthed. This could only be Caroline, Della's adoptive mother. She was a generously proportioned woman, not fat as such but well-rounded, with huge brown eyes fixed, unblinking, on the indigo storm clouds outside her front door. Presently she looked down and saw her daughter below her in the doorway.

"Della!" she yelled, "Della come in, it's not safe! It'll eat you alive!"

How ironic that Caroline had summed up the Void's propensity so succinctly. Her eyes roamed over the rest of the haphazard bunch of gathered spectators crowded in the front porch with Della and under the roar of the Void, Mildred thought that she heard the older woman mutter 'I might have guessed' before she disappeared from the gaping hole in the wall that had once been protected by glass. A few short moments later she appeared behind them in the front doorway, encased in a bright pink fluffy dressing-gown.

"Come in, all of you, you're risking your lives out here!" She ushered them all into the house with frantic movements, and whilst Mildred herself was quite happy to obey and find however brief a respite from the awe-inspiring presence of the Void, she was also amused to see that the usually formidable headmistress and deputy were being swept along in Caroline's vehemence as well, unable to protest. Finally only the Devil remained on the outside, and Caroline had no idea of his diabolic tendencies.

"You too, you cretin!" she yelled to him, gesturing wildly for him to come into the house. "You'll be killed if you stay out there with that… that…" She gave up searching for an appropriate word. "With that thing!"

"I really don't think…" Miss Hardbroom began from her position further down the hall, but before she could speak on, the Devil had joined them in the house and Caroline had shut the door against the onslaught of the Void.

"Honestly," she said. "Your lot just attract trouble, don't they?" She pushed her way through the gathered crowd of magicians in the hall and led the way into the kitchen, continuing to speak as she filled the kettle with water and put in on to boil. The sudden addition of light to the grim scenario made it seem suddenly more bearable, less frightening, and the everyday occurrence of making a cup of tea in the middle of a catastrophe made Mildred laugh.

"You may as well sit down and have a cup of tea whilst you figure out what to do," Caroline was saying, "because there's no way that the police are going to come out to this, no matter how many times Angela Cribbins next-door phones them up to complain that the aliens have descended and have smashed her windows." She paused. "I take it that this is your doing, and not the aliens?" she added, eyes narrowed. "I mean, it's magical."

Miss Hardbroom opened her mouth to object but Caroline powered on, anticipating the deputy-head's words.

"Don't worry, Della's told me all about you. As soon as I saw you out there I matched names to descriptions." She paused, and her face seemed melancholy as she dropped teabags into mismatched mugs, appraising each of the visitors in turn. "You must be Miss Cackle," she said to the headmistress, dropping into a small half-curtsey as she handed the most senior witch a mug of tea. "Pleased to meet you. And you must be Millie. Just a girl," she murmured to herself as her eyes roamed over the youngest woman before coming to rest on Miss Hardbroom, who still cut an impressive silhouette despite her somewhat dishevelled appearance. "You must be Constance," Caroline said pointedly. "Gracious my dear, look at your poor feet! Let me get you a bandage or something!"

"I'm fine," protested Miss Hardbroom, although her muddy, bleeding toes told a different story. "And I would like to stress that it is not us who are the cause of the extra-terrestrial phenomenon outside, but _him_."

Mildred shivered; she could almost feel the ice in the deputy's words as she nodded towards the Devil, who had taken up residence in the darkest corner of the kitchen, seeming to resent the bright light of the overhead bulbs. Mildred supposed it made sense for a being who thrived on darkness and confusion to shun something so warm and welcoming.

"The Michael Sheen lookalike?" Caroline raised an eyebrow and addressed the Devil in an imperious tone that Miss Hardbroom would have been proud of. "Is that right young man!"

Mildred could not help herself then, she had to burst out laughing at the mode of address being used toward the Devil, arguably the oldest creature walking the earth at that moment. Miss Hardbroom shot her a glare, and in that moment Mildred could see what was going to happen. Caroline had gone very pale, and very quiet, the mug she was holding dropping from her hands and smashing on the tiled floor as she raised a shaking hand and pointed to Della.

"Devil," she whispered. "You're the Devil. You did that to my daughter. You attacked my girl! You could have killed her! You could have killed her!"

Caroline's voice was rising with word that she spoke, and Mildred could see the rage bubbling up in her contorted expression.

"Caroline," said Miss Cackle, alarmed, placing her mug on the table and moving round to try and restrain the now shaking woman. "Steady, Caroline, we don't know all he's capable of."

"I don't care!" snarled Caroline, struggling to get free of the older woman's surprisingly tight grip. "He could have killed my Della! He could have…"

Caroline went limp and Amelia staggered backwards as she took the woman's weight fully.

"What have you done to her?" Della screeched, speaking for the first time since they had re-entered the house. Up until that moment, she had been sitting quietly at the kitchen table, absorbed in the Legendarae and massaging her bandaged forehead, her brow furrowed in both concentration and pain.

"It's alright Della," said Miss Hardbroom, who had sprung forward to help Miss Cackle manoeuvre Caroline into a seat and check her state of health. "She's just asleep."

Della looked up at the Devil, her eyes no more than angry slits.

"Get out," she hissed. "Get out of this house."

The Devil was more than happy to oblige, melting away in the shadows without a further word, and the heavy atmosphere lessened at once. Miss Hardbroom collapsed into a chair, the agony from her feet seeming to show in her face for the first time.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked. Mildred didn't think that she had ever heard her potions teacher sound so helpless. They were truly out of options, unless what the Devil had said in the garden was true.

"Have we any clues?" Miss Cackle asked. Mildred tried to imagine what it must be like for her, only just figuring out what was happening having been out of the loop for two days. So much had happened in the forty-eight hours that the headmistress had been unconscious; Mildred could scarcely remember it all, but she knew that it would be a lot to take in all in one go. She wondered how much of the situation Miss Cackle was already familiar with. Did she realise why her deputy-head was wearing such unusual attire, for instance? Her next words confirmed that she did. "And Constance, don't you dare do that again."

"What?" asked Miss Hardbroom, affronted.

"Running off to sacrifice yourself to the Devil to save the rest of us. I know we do a lot of things 'for the good of the Academy', Constance, but there is a limit."

If she was not very much mistaken, Mildred thought she heard her teacher give a sigh of exasperation.

"There's only one possibility that we have gleaned so far," she said in answer to the headmistress's first question, ignoring the later statement. "According to the Devil, the Void can be closed if a magician willingly surrenders their magic to it. Naturally, I am loathe to believe the ingrate, but it is the only lead have."

Miss Cackle stayed silent for a long time.

"It is not entirely implausible," she said eventually, deep in thought. "The Void contains magic that was given up unwillingly, unknowingly. To offer up magic whilst truly knowing what one is doing seems to go against the natural order of the Void and it would cause it to close itself. There is, obviously, one undeniable problem."

"You'd surrender your life as well," said Della quietly. She pushed the Legendarae across the table towards Miss Hardbroom, the other pidgin Latin speaker, and pointed out a flickering sentence moving slowly over the pages. "The Devil was telling the truth. That is the way to close the Void. It says so here."

Mildred bit her lip as the two older teachers looked at each other.

"And so the age old question remains," said Miss Hardbroom quietly, before giving a bitter laugh. "Shall we toss a coin for it?"

"Constance, remember what I said about sacrifice?"

There was silence for a long time, the tone in Miss Cackle's words enough to keep Miss Hardbroom from arguing with her.

"Excuse me a moment," the headmistress said eventually, and left the room. A few seconds later, the silent, unmoving party in the kitchen heard the front door slam and the three women shot into life, running through the hallway and wrenching open the heavy door once more. Miss Cackle was standing in the path of the Void, its swirling tendrils just beginning to lick at her frame.

"Amelia!" cried Miss Hardbroom, and Mildred could divine genuine distress and agitation in her voice.

Miss Cackle shrugged.

"It's me or you, Constance," she said. "You've got more life ahead of you than I have, don't deny it."

The Void enveloped the headmistress completely. With a cry of despair, Miss Hardbroom shot forward, disappearing into the indigo mist herself.

Fear assaulted Mildred's senses from all sides. She had just seen the two most powerful and influential witches that she would probably ever meet disappear, never to be seen again. But the Void had not yet closed. There might be a chance. She took a single step forward, out of the shelter of the house, and before she knew it she was running, flying along the ground towards the vortex.

"Mildred!" she heard Della's pained voice cry. "Mildred, come back! Don't be stupid!"

Mildred ignored her, running headlong into the Void. She felt the mist surround her, blinding, buffeting, disorientating her.

"Miss Hardbroom?" she called. "Miss Cackle?"

There was a deafening crash, and Mildred felt the ground give way beneath her with a shudder as everything turned black.

* * *

**Note2: ***Kimmeth cackles evilly on realising she has left her readers on the mother of all cliffies and with no respite in sight for almost three days!*

Don't forget to review!


	28. Chapter 28

**Note:** Well, here it is, the next chapter. Thanks for waiting so patiently! I had a lovely weekend at home and now I'm back with more witchy goodness...

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Eight**

Everything had happened so suddenly, Della had to sit down on the doorstep with a heavy thump in order to even vaguely attempt to take it all in., She felt numb, disbelieving, as if she was in a dream and convinced that any moment now she would wake up in her own bed and everything would be alright. But despite what her traumatised mind was telling her, Della knew that this was not a dream. It was horribly real, and it was happening on her doorstep.

As soon as Mildred had entered the Void, there had been a cataclysmic boom that shattered any remaining panes of glass that the street might have held, and then it was gone; a faint shockwave of warm air blowing down the road was the only indication that the terrifying, swirling vortex that had come so close to engulfing the town had ever been there in the first place. Della could see homeowners, some clad in dressing gowns like she was, coming out of their battered front doors and looking in wonder at the devastation that had been wreaked, slack-jawed at the Void's sudden disappearance as much as they had been by its appearance. People were pointing, talking, everyone speaking at once and no-one listening to anyone else. Della caught random words, the same pattern over and over again. Two women had run into the eye of the storm. There had been a girl, barely eighteen. There was a man in the shadows, a shifty sort of man. Where had they all gone?

Only Della could answer the question. Only Della knew that they were trapped in the Void, as good as dead to the outside world, never to be seen again. She looked without seeing, vague images flashing across her eyes but not registering, thoughts tumbling over and over in her head as she stared straight ahead at the place where three of the most powerful, most inspiring witches she had ever known had willingly surrendered themselves to the unknown eternity of the Void, to death in effect. She was aware of someone speaking near her, but it took her several moments to realise that she was being addressed directly.

"Della love, are you alright?"

Still mute with emotion, Della turned her head to see old Auntie Madge from next door peering round her front door, her stiff grey hair still in rollers and her bottle-end glasses perched on her nose. She nodded, knowing that she would not be able to speak around the lump in her throat, and if she made any attempt to communicate, then the tears that she could feel welling up under her lids, hot liquid pooling and clouding her vision, would fall in an inexplicable torrent, and how could she explain her distress to Auntie Madge? True, having one's windows blown out by a mystical entity that had now vanished without trace, possibly to return again but probably not, was a shocking experience to all but the most stoic of constitutions, but surely it would not cause the level of disturbance that Della would no doubt show.

"Is your mum alright?" Auntie Madge continued, unperturbed by her lack of verbal response. Della thought of her mother, asleep at the kitchen table at the Devil's hand, and she wondered if she would ever wake up, or if it was a case of waiting for true love's first kiss to break the spell. Della could not help but give a wry smile as she nodded once more to Madge, who, satisfied as to the Spinder family's well-being, disappeared back into the house to yell at her husband Norman to come and put some boards up over the front windows, "as there's no way we'll get the glazier out at midnight!" If her mum had to wait for her handsome prince, she would be waiting a long time.

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Della wondered what her dad would have thought of the events that had just unfurled on his doorstep. Far from being afraid, he would have been fascinated, his moustache virtually bristling with excitement as he experienced first-hand one of the mystical occurrences of which he was so enamoured. Thinking of her departed dad made Della's mind come full circle to the most recent losses that she had just endured, and her blank façade melted as she found she could no longer contain her emotions behind a mask. She buried her face in her palms and gave a stifled howl, allowing her tears to soak into the dark velour that covered her hands. What was she going to do? What could she do? She was stuck, sitting here on the ground like a lead weight, staying still whilst life moved on and bustled around her under the glow of the streetlights; people calling directory enquires for emergency glass-fitters, men in pyjamas getting out ladders to fix panels of cardboard over their broken windows.

It had been so sudden; what had Macduff said? All my little chicks in one fell swoop? Della felt the same way. Constance, Amelia, Mildred: they were like a second family to her, and in a flash they were gone, torn away from her by the Void, leaving her not strictly alone, but certainly lonely in the darkened world. Had they been successful in their quest or would their sacrifice have been in vain? How was Della to know that the Devil would not simply open the Void again and continue to cause panic and havoc despite the fearlessness with which these three women had given up their lives? Lifting her eyes for a moment, she searched the shadows for the demon's now horribly familiar form, but she could not make out his silhouette. Briefly anger bubbled through her veins and Della was sure that had she seen him, she would not have been able to stop herself attacking him for the second time that day, the injuries she had already received by his hand notwithstanding. But the red mist lifted as soon as it had descended; leaving Della in her own private pool of misery, content to curse the Devil through her intermittent bursts of tears. Why was he intent on destroying Cackle's and those she held dear? Why couldn't he just leave them alone?

Della threw her head back in frustration, unable to think of a satisfactory answer to her question whilst her mind was in such emotional turmoil. The night sky was clear once again, the stars twinkling down at her, unaware of the turbulence that had just shaken the lives of those below them. It was alright for them. They knew what they were doing. Della shivered as she continued to gaze up; even though it was summer the cloudless nights were still cold, and she knew that she ought to move and return inside but she could not make her limbs work, heavy and shocked into numbness as they were. She hummed a few bars of the _Les Misérables _soundtrack, feeling them fitting in the circumstances, before realisation, both of what she was doing and the circumstances surrounding it, overcame her again and the barely audible tune came to a choked stop in her throat. After a while of asphyxiating silence, she was dragged from her tumultuous train of thought by a voice from the street calling her name.

"Della! Della!"

At first she ignored it, content to remain in her quiet yet overwhelming tornado of feeling, vaguely aware of the pain in her head beginning acutely once more, but the voice became louder and more persistent until it was next to her, in her ear. Della looked down from the sky, hand going to the back of her neck automatically to massage away the crick, and found herself face to face with the two wizards. They were a picture of desolation, the shock at seeing the Void's destructive power made physical had drained them of all colour, and their faces glowed an eerie sallow colour in the streetlight. They had obviously been running to arrive at their destination, and they had obviously noted the ominous lack of any witches in the immediate vicinity.

"Della, what happened?" asked Egbert gently, no doubt sensing her silent distress. "We came from the castle as soon as we could, the Void wouldn't let us transport whilst it was open. Where are Constance and Amelia?"

Della opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Her throat constricted against the treacherous words as she tried to speak them, she physically could not give utterance to the terrible truth. She swallowed, licked her lips nervously and tried again, putting all her willpower behind the speech and finally managing to croak out a choked 'gone'.

"Gone?" repeated Algernon, perplexed. "But where?"

He tailed off as Egbert gave him a sharp look before indicating the empty street behind them, and understanding flooded Algernon's face, draining him of what little colour he had left.

"The Void?" he mouthed. "They went into the Void?"

"It was the only way to close it," Della whispered, her shaking voice no more than a breath. "Someone had to surrender their magic. Amelia, Constance, Mildred… They all got caught up in it."

The wizards were silent. What could they say? There was nothing to say. Della knew that, she had already come to that conclusion long ago. Egbert sat down heavily on the step next to her, as if his knees had suddenly stopped working with the revelation. He seemed so small compared with his staff, which he was holding onto as if it was the only thing keeping him from crumpling completely. Algernon looked similarly shellshocked.

No-one even tried to make an attempt at a conversation to lighten the sombre mood or pass condolences around their small group. They were all three of them in the same position, all suddenly thrown into an abrupt, inconsolable mourning, a chaotic thought process that Della found once again to be broken by someone calling her name. She pressed the heel of her hand into the bridge of her nose, willing the latest interruption to go away before recognising the voice as her mother's. In a split second, Della was alert, the sound dragging her out of her self-destructive spiral and she shakily got to her feet using Egbert's shoulder for leverage. Her mum was alive, awake, perfectly alright. She didn't know what had happened.

"Dell, where are you, what's going on?" Her mum came to the door and Della saw her take a visible step back on seeing the wizards. "Hello, where did you come from?" She shrugged before leaning out over the top of Egbert's head and gazing into the road, the relief in her posture evident when she saw that the Void was no longer outside, menacing the street. "Well, you gents might as well come in, there's plenty of tea, and someone's going to notice if you keep those poles out, they aren't exactly inconspicuous."

Egbert and Algernon entered the house with the usual muted pleasantries given on entering a stranger's home but still subdued, and it was only now that Della's mum seemed to realise that there was something amiss, and more importantly several members of the original party missing.

"Where are the others?" she asked. Egbert and Della's eyes connected, and she hoped that he could read her unwillingness to explain in her eyes. He picked up on the hint with a brief nod and cleared his throat, but before he could begin to speak, Della stopped him. A thought had struck her, a ray of hope glimmering in the dark quagmire of murky doomsday scenarios. Her mother had been under a spell cast by the Devil, and now she was free from the enchantment. Constance had said something to her during the day, the logic behind her mission into the waiting arms of the Devil. The spell can be broken if the caster ceases to exist.

If her mother was free… If the Devil had ceased to exist…

Della ran out of the door again into the street, where a low grumbling sound was pulsing through the air. She ran into the road, ignoring the cries of her mother, Auntie Madge's exclamation from next door and the worried looks from the neighbours. If the Devil had ceased to exist then perhaps that was the cause of the Void's destruction. True, the other women had run into the Void, but perhaps there was still a chance that they could be saved. Surely the Devil was a figure of higher magical status, more important to the Void. Then again, if the Void had power beyond his control…

Della couldn't think clearly, everything was a jumble in her head just as it had been for the past ten minutes. There was only one tangible thing that she could grasp, and that was the tiny spark of hope that perhaps not all was lost.

The grumbling grew ever louder, and then, there in front of her, a sliver seemed to open in the air, wisps of indigo smoke billowing through it as three figures appeared, their outlines sharpening until they were obviously the silhouette shapes of three women running pell-mell towards her.

Constance, Amelia and Mildred shot through the slice of the Void just as it closed up once more, leaving the street in complete silence save for their laboured panting and Della's holler of triumph.

* * *

**Note2:** Well, I couldn't kill them off, that would be a rubbish ending! Stay tuned, as we have but one chapter and an epilogue left!


	29. Chapter 29

**Note: **Well here we are, on the final stretch! Presenting the final two chapters. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Twenty-Nine**

Constance felt the Void snap closed behind her, so close she was sure that it had cut off the trailing ends of her wild tresses. Confident that there was no longer any danger, she came to a gradual halt from her fevered running, panting as she bent double to get her breath back. On hearing Della's exclamations and shouts of joy and triumph she straightened, managing a weak smile on seeing the younger woman dancing around the street in a close hug with Mildred, both overjoyed at seeing each other again. She cast a glance sideways at the headmistress, who was looking similarly jubilant, if a little winded from her sudden exertion.

"Have we come through unscathed?" Constance asked her superior in a low voice. Both witches knew to what she was referring, and Amelia nodded, casting a few sparks to prove that her magic was unaffected by their spell in the Void. Constance did the same and together the older witches moved to separate the other two, still celebrating, before they fell over and caused themselves any further injury. Constance risked a quick look up at the house, seeing Egbert, Algernon and Caroline crowded in the doorway, all wearing expressions of complete astonishment. Constance could not blame them, she was feeling rather astonished herself. As soon as she had run into the Void after Amelia, she had been prepared for that to be the end. She had not expected any salvation, but suddenly, out of nowhere, the gateway had opened in front of them, and all three witches had not hesitated before running towards it, the light at the end of the terrifying tunnel.

But why? What had happened to allow them to escape the vortex? As Mildred now proved with an elaborate spark shower, none of them had given up their magic, so that could not have been the cause of the Void's closing. It was all most puzzling. Not that Constance was not glad that they had been spared and the Void had gone, hopefully for good. Far from it, she was feeling remarkably light, but that did not stop her naturally inquisitive mind from wondering how this most favourable outcome had come to pass.

Just then something caught the corner of her eye, a flickering image in the very darkest shadows of the street and, possibly against her better judgement, she decided to follow it and investigate. After all, Constance reasoned with herself, if it was something maleficent then they should recognise and deal with the potential threat sooner rather than later, shouldn't they? Halfway across the road she stopped in her tracks when she realised what she had seen.

Tony was standing there, a shadow of his former self, a half-image, pale and ghostly. Not the Devil, but Tony, the man she had both loved and hated with a passion. He gave a slight smile but made no move to close the gap between them or beckon her over. Nevertheless, Constance felt compelled to continue her journey, to go and speak to him now that she knew the man's true diabolic nature. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to ask of him and scream at him… Perhaps he could even tell them why the Void had closed without their sacrifice.

"You…" she began, but she was cut off mid-sentence by the shock of the Devil metamorphosing in front of her eyes into the form that had become more familiar to her, the visage that she had first encountered in the ninth circle and was then reacquainted with on Tower Bridge.

"I knew that would get your attention," he said, grinning at Constance's low exclamation of frustration. "I suppose you're wondering how come you've gone into the Void and come out of the other side unscathed."

"Ironically enough, the thought had crossed my mind, yes," growled Constance. The Devil just laughed.

"Oh Connie… Constance," he corrected hastily, a move that she found strange as he had never made any effort to conform to her preference before. "I suppose I shall let you off this time, after all, you've had a very trying day." His leer seemed to fade, making his face appear more human, although the eyes still gave him away, flickering red as they were, but Constance noticed that they were darker than usual, more of a deep beryl than a brilliant ruby. "In order to close the Void, one must offer up a sacrifice of magic, no?"

"That's what you said," Constance said pointedly, still keeping her guard up. "But none of us have surrendered our magic."

"No," said the Devil. "None of _you_ have surrendered your magic."

It took Constance a long time to register the words and the stress that they carried, and the revelation almost made her sit down on the floor in shock there and then, but the only amazement that she conveyed was to shift her footing slightly to keep herself upright.

"You mean to say…" She pointed at the Devil. "You…"

The Devil nodded.

"You surrendered your magic?"

He shrugged.

"In a manner of speaking."

"But you're the Devil!"

"Yes, I was aware of that." He paused, seemingly lost in thought for a while. "I did only say 'in a manner of speaking'. Technically the magic that I surrendered wasn't mine in the first place, but it was enough for the Void to be satisfied with. After all, it's been waiting for it for a long time."

Constance narrowed her eyes, perplexed, and the Devil nodded over her shoulder to where Della was talking to her mother and the wizards on the doorstep to the house, and suddenly she understood. The Devil had not surrendered his own magic, but Della's, the magic that he had leeched whilst they were in the ninth circle, the magic that never reached the Void like it was meant to do in the natural cycle of the world.

"And it is quite greedy for me to continue with both hers and mine."

Constance shook her head.

"But why?"

It would have been so easy for him to let them make their sacrifices and to go on as before – still using Della's magic, and under no threat from the out-of-control magic of the Void. Why had he taken this noble route and allowed the three witches to retain their lives and freedom? He sighed.

"You and your damned sisterhood, if you'll excuse the, ahem, inappropriate language." He looked at her in earnest. "Back in the ninth circle, all that time ago, I said you had a bond that I could not touch. I did not say that in vain, the comradeship between you all, you three witches especially, is honestly unique. I knew that as soon as one of you made that momentous decision, the others would follow, united till the end. I couldn't let it slip away, it really does fascinate me. That was always my downfall; the Angel always said that I meddled around with humankind too much. And after all, I'm immortal of sorts. I knew it wasn't going to kill me."

Constance could see his outline fading away into the shadows slightly.

"You are dying though," she pointed out as his outline slowly became more and more indistinct.

"Only this manifestation," he said. "My true form is still safe in the ninth circle. I can always make another form like this. Besides." The wolfish leer returned. "If I let you die, then I'd never get a chance at that, would I?" He reached round and smacked Constance's rear; she could not move away in time to dodge. Stunned for only a moment, she reached up to slap him but her hand went straight through the smoky image, and she growled in frustration as the Devil laughed at her.

"One of the perks of the job, my dear," he said. "Before I go completely though, there is one final thing."

He held up her pentacle, and Constance's hand went to her chest with a gasp. The Mirror Potion had not been the only thing that she had secreted in her bra before the final cataclysmic meeting. She had taken the pentacle as well, as a sort of grim luck charm.

"It was the only thing that came through when I tried to transport you out of my limbo," he explained. Constance went to take it but he held it slightly out of reach, and when she looked back from the dangling pendant to his face, she saw that his eyes were completely dark, an intense chocolate brown, and completely in earnest. His hand came out again and Constance tried to flinch away but his touch caught her, his fingertips like a warm breeze as they grazed her cheek.

"Connie, I don't think you need this anymore," he said, and Constance watched as it melted into an ink-like smoke, dissipating from his fingers, feeling light-headed, as if she was floating away herself. "It's not healthy to cling on to such dark times."

"You can talk," she sniffed. "You were the one responsible."

"I know," said the Devil. His figure was now completely blurred but Constance could not tell if he was fading out of view or if she was fading out of consciousness. As he melded to the blackness completely, she thought she heard him whisper.

_I'm sorry._

XXX

Amelia knew what was going to happen probably before Constance herself did. She had learned from their frantic few days in the ninth circle the previous year the tell-tale signs that showed when her deputy was about to faint. She was standing perfectly still, watching the Devil beginning to slowly melt away into the darkness, and although her back was turned to the headmistress, Amelia could see her next breath catch in her throat as she tried to take it. Sure enough, her stiff, upright stance crumpled without warning, her knees giving way beneath her and her upper limbs making no move to break her fall. The Devil held out smoky arms to catch her as she toppled downwards, a tower of strength finally giving out. She sank down straight, as perfectly ordered in a faint as in wakefulness. She slumped in the Devil's arms and Amelia took two steps forward, more than prepared for the demon to make to transport Constance away from them once more, trying to prepare herself for his unexpected, chaotic nature, as impossible as the task was. The last time that Constance had fainted into the Devil's arms, he had dropped her, leaving her to her fate. She was taken aback when instead of taking advantage of the situation, the Devil carefully lowered her friend onto the ground, making sure her head was in a comfortable position, all the while his physical form gradually fading from sight. He brushed a fingertip lightly over her brow, stroking away a loose curl. His hand, hovering over her pale cheek, was the last thing to disperse.

Amelia stood in the centre of the road for a long time, unable to comprehend what she had just seen before Constance gave a small groan, showing signs of coming round, and Amelia was brought back to the very real issues of the present moment. In all honesty, she couldn't blame her for fainting. If what she had divined from Davina before setting off on her journey to intercept Constance and Mildred was true, then the formidable woman had barely eaten or slept during the two days of Amelia's incapacitation, and the emotional trauma that she had experienced in the last few hours would not have helped matters for the exhausted and undernourished witch. She made her way across the street to keep a watch over her deputy as she continued to drift, half in and half out of her peaceful oblivion, her hair fanned out over the pavement in a dark wave. Was she finally free from the spectres that haunted her past? Amelia wouldn't like to say, but she thought that perhaps the events might have brought her some… what was it the Americans called it? Closure. Amelia had no idea what it meant, but the term seemed to fit in the circumstances.

After a few moments, Constance's eyes flickered open, and Amelia smiled on seeing the surprise at finding herself horizontal flicker across her face for a split-second before she was composed once more and Amelia helped her to her feet. The younger witch looked furtively at the shadows behind them, no doubt half-expecting to see the Devil appear from nowhere again to haunt her.

"He's gone, Constance," she reassured. "And it looks as if he's gone for good."

Amelia had no proof to substantiate this statement of course, it was only her gut instinct, but it was a strong one. There had been something in the fading image of the Devil's face as he had slowly dematerialised in front of them that gave Amelia a certain sense of finality. Perhaps now, Constance could at last have a chance for respite from her inner turmoil.

Their moment of contemplation was broken by a voice from the steps, and Amelia turned to see Caroline, still clad in her pink dressing-gown, holding the kettle in one hand and a packet of PG Tips in the other.

"Do you want a cuppa?" she asked plaintively. "I daresay you could use it after everything you've been through."

Amelia was about to accept when she caught a glimpse of her watch and she was reminded of the deadline that she had set herself and intimated to Davina. It was quarter to midnight. She had decreed that graduation would take place, and it was going to do so in fifteen short minutes. They would never be able to get back to the castle in good time, even if they had the aid of Mildred's turbo-charged broomstick – the girl might try to hide it but Amelia could recognise the telltale green shimmer on the brush of her broom; Enid Nightshade was not the first pupil at Cackle's to experiment with rendering the traditional mode of transport more in tune with the modern day. She looked somewhat aghast at Constance, who raised an eyebrow to question.

"Graduation," she mouthed, and Constance nodded knowingly before going over to Caroline.

"I am afraid we shall have to decline your kind offer Mrs Spinder," she said. "The graduation ceremony is about to take place at Cackle's. But we would be honoured if you would join us for the celebrations, Della as well. Your hospitality and understanding, both of you, has been…" Constance struggled for the right word, and Amelia found herself unable to assist.

"Don't worry, I understand." Caroline nodded before calling back inside the house to her daughter. "Dell, get dressed, we're going to a party!"

Amelia could not help but laugh as they made their way into the house to work out the logistics of getting everyone back to the castle in time for the ceremony to take place, and she was still smiling to herself as she folded her arms ready to 'hitch a lift' alongside Constance's self-transportation.

Everything had turned out for the best.

* * *

**Note2:** *Sobs* It's nearly the end! Onwards to the epi now...


	30. Epilogue

**Note: **This is it. The end of the line. I'm going to miss **Pandora's Box**. Before I crack on with the epi, I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed, favourited and/or put this on alert; your support and words of encouragement have helped me through a rather stressy time in my life. Especially **NCD**, whose fantastic 'accompanying series' has been admired on all sides, not least by me!

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

**Epilogue**

Mildred licked her lips nervously as she cast her gaze over the sea of faces in front of her. The audience was looking at her expectantly: students, both past and present; wizards and other guests. She smiled weakly as she caught a glimpse of Maud and Enid waving at her minutely from the front row, and looked beyond them to the back, where the Chief Wizard and Mr Rowan-Webb were squeezed onto the end of a row next to Della and her mother, the former sporting a brightly patterned headscarf to disguise her impressive bandage. Next to them were Fenny and Griz, both waving madly and grinning like Cheshire cats.

Mildred opened her mouth to begin her speech, but no words came out. She closed it again and risked a quick glance at the teachers behind her.

"You'll be fine," mouthed Miss Drill, who looked as if she wanted nothing more than to go to bed and forget her stressful day of travelling and finding demons in the dungeons.

Miss Bat gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up, a stray piece of strawberry from her latest 'nerve-calming' fruit salad lodged in her hair above her ear

"Go on, dear," said Miss Cackle softly. "There's nothing to worry about." It was hard to believe that forty-eight hours previously she had been at death's door; she looked to be her usual, unrufflable self.

Finally she looked to Miss Hardbroom, her already dramatic appearance heightened by the addition of her hat to the stunning dress. The formidable woman had refused to attend the proceedings without some visible manifestation of her witch's ensemble, even if she had not had time to change completely. The deputy-head merely nodded, and Mildred turned back to face the front, and she began to speak.

"Pupils, ex-pupils, staff and friends of Cackle's Academy." So far, so good. "Today I've graduated after four years of, quite frankly, astounding magical education. I'm not going to pretend it was not tough at times. I'm not going to pretend that Miss Hardbroom didn't scare the living daylights out of me for my first three years, and the majority of my fourth in fact. I'm not going to pretend that I liked PE or that chanting wasn't sometimes boring or that the Foster's Effect isn't a real pain in the unmentionables." She paused. "But I am going to say that I will never regret anything that's happened here, the good and the bad. I come from a non-witch background, one of very few, and throughout my four years here I have always felt so lucky at being gifted in the way I have been.

"But all you girls who still have your years here ahead of you, you should feel lucky too. I would certainly feel lucky if I found myself in your position again. You have so much waiting for you. You have this beautiful building to explore."

She nodded to Maud and Enid.

"You have a library full of mysterious secrets waiting for you to uncover."

A nod to Fenny and Griz, who cheered at their almost name-drop until a glare from Miss Hardbroom (or at least Mildred guessed it was a glare from Miss Hardbroom) made them quieten instantly.

She continued. "You have some truly awe-inspiring allies to fly to your assistance in an emergency."

The wizards nodded their acknowledgement and Della blushed bright scarlet.

"And finally, you have the teachers sitting behind me. Yes, they're a little odd, a little forceful, a little scary, but they're also willing to do absolutely anything to see you succeed, to help you out of tight spots, and even to save your lives."

She paused, onto the final stretch now.

"So never forget, when the going gets rough, never forget how lucky you are to be here at Cackle's."

The hall erupted in applause and Mildred, glad to have finished her speech, ran down the steps off the stage and into the waiting arms of Maud and Enid, accepting cheers and congratulations as the newly-graduated Fourth-Years threw their mortarboards in the air as a single wave. The next few moments were a blur, everyone wanting to speak to her, to wish her well, to say what they thought of her speech, all good things. She was being herded towards the back of the hall in the crowd of chatter, and she managed to snatch a couple of words with Della and Fenny and Griz as she went past before she was pressed into a handshake with the wizards. The impromptu party was beginning; Miss Bat playing a newly-composed 'jazzed-up' version of the school song on the harmonium, and Mildred could just imagine Miss Hardbroom's reaction. She looked around for her form-mistress but she was nowhere to be seen. Mildred jumped out of her skin when she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

"Thank you, Mildred."

Mildred spun round, but the voice's owner had already disappeared, and she was being accosted on all sides. She smiled at the simple sentence, and plunged headlong into the fray.

XXX

The year was over. The students had left for the summer a few days previously, some not to return. The Fourth-Years had graduated, all with flying colours, ready to head off to their respective destinations, where Constance was sure that they would shine. She was in the lab, saying goodbye to all the bottles and jars and cauldrons before she was parted with them for the long holiday, not that she would admit this frivolous procedure to anyone. There was nothing left to do now except lock the lab and pack her own possessions. Constance thought of Della's dress, hanging on the back of her door in its carrier, cleaned and repaired by magic and waiting for… Waiting for what? Della had said that she was never going to wear it, and Constance was certain that she was never going to find a use for the gown again.

A knock on the lab door brought her sharply out of her reverie and Constance looked up to see Davina outside the door carrying a large parcel that was wrapped in brown paper and tied up with what looked to be an entire roll of 'fragile, handle with care' tape. She opened the door and Davina handed over her delivery gratefully.

"This just arrived for you," she said, a little breathlessly. "No wonder the postman was late, trying to lug that up the mountain. What is it?" she asked eagerly.

"I have no idea." Constance was completely at a loss, and she tentatively shot a spell at the package to unravel its wrappings. Left leaning against the doorframe was a single rectangular pane of glass.

"What…" Davina began, but then Constance noticed the envelope attached to one corner of the glass in a familiar script, and she pulled it off.

_Constance_, it read. _This is the glass (or ice, whatever you want to call it) from my mirror – I had it taken out of the cheval frame and ordinary glass put in; I was not exceedingly comfortable about having a gateway to the Devil's domain in my bedroom. So I've given it to you for safekeeping. You know, just in case. _

_I'm off to Glamorgan… well, now actually, I'll probably be on the road by the time you get this. _

_Have a (hopefully) peaceful and prosperous year, and I've no doubt that our paths will cross again._

_Best wishes, Della_

_PS: Keep the dress. You never know when it might come in handy. _

Constance looked at the glass, seeming to be so innocent, yet she knew of its true potential. Now it was in her hands, under her guardianship, and the prospect was more than a little daunting. She cast a spell and the mirror disappeared off to a safe and hidden location, away from inquisitive eyes, and she thought about Della's words.

She too had no doubt that their paths would cross again.

XXX

The Devil was at a loss. This was a most unusual circumstance for him. Being without a plan was not something that a demon could afford to do for long. His temporary limbo had been destroyed and he was back to using his base of operations in the ninth circle, now cut off from Cackle's as it had been as soon as he had closed the Void.

He thought back to that fateful night, to all the many varied events that had occurred in the space of just a few short hours. To him, of course, time meant nothing. It was so relative to his immortal state that it was almost malleable.

So close. He had come so close to having his ultimate desire, and she had ruined everything. Well, he had to concede, he could not solely blame her for the Void, that was of his own doing. But everything else… If only she had not followed her friend into the Void. If only she had not forced his hand in that way, albeit unknowingly. If only he had not let his damned _human_ side get the better of him once again. What was it about this woman that made him prey to such weakness? The Devil knew the answer, of course he did, but he was loathe to admit it even to himself.

He smiled. A plan was forming in the back of his mind.

* * *

**Note2: **Yes folks, this does mean what you think it means. **Kimmeth **is proud to announce that this is **not the end**. This series, entitled **The Devil in the Details**, is in fact a **trilogy**.

The tale will continue in **The Last Stand...**

Coming soon to a computer screen near you.

(Review for old times' sake?)


End file.
